


Winner's Club

by WillowGrove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Audience, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Scene, Blow Jobs, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming on Someone, Cruelty, Crying, Crying Victor Nikiforov, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Flogging, Gloves, Humiliation, M/M, Marks, Masochism, Masochist Victor Nikiforov, Mocking, Non-Consensual Spanking, Orgasm, Over the Knee, POV Victor Nikiforov, Paddling, Pain, Painplay, Rough Oral Sex, Roughness, Scratching, Spanking, Strapping, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Subspace, Victor spanked, Whipping, Yuri Plisetsky spanked, Yuuri spanking Victor, also sexual situations!, bad domming, but Victor finds it extremely arousing nevertheless, but this is really all about group spanking porn :D, crying as a release, crying as an orgasm?, eventual Victuuri in the background, gang spanking, heavy spanking, inability to safeword, kink humiliation, more perhaps later?, painslut Victor, self-aftercare, spanked while doing splits, spanking in different positions, straining positions, the noncon spanking is for a few spanks in chapter 3, the spanking is mostly done in a non sexual situation, ugly humiliation I guess although no-one thinks anyone's ugly here, umm in a "positive" kinky way during a scene, very light cbt in chapter 4, very slight leather kink, wanking, watching yourself in the mirror while having sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowGrove/pseuds/WillowGrove
Summary: Similar to birthday spankings, the Russian male figure skaters celebrate the highest scoring Russian in international competitions: By giving him as many spanks as was his total score. Yikes! Needless to say, Victor’s bum gets sore especially often. It’s lucky that Victor finds it… curiously pleasurable.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 84





	1. Victor's First Win

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of chapters depicting different spankings in the Winner’s Club. Each will probably be readable as a one shot, but they all happen in the same universe (and probably in chronological order) and there will be recurring characters and some minor references to other chapters. Mostly Victor will be the one bending over (you know, he’s the one who always wins so…). I have a few ideas lined up and I will be adding more chapters as inspiration hits. So far this looks like a seven part story.
> 
> Please note the tags. Some are for future chapters. I will be adding more tags as more chapters are posted. Note that most of the spankings and also some of the sexual situations are dubcon. I like to think that everyone we meet is kind and aware of bdsm and safety and consent issues, and that everyone participating leaves with a good feeling after the play, but it’s nowhere explicitly stated in the story. Therefore, if dubcon is not for you, I recommend you proceed with caution or skip this one.
> 
> This is a fantasy. Please practice safe sane and consensual (or risk-aware if you so prefer!) kink in real life.
> 
> Even more rambling notes at the end of the first chapter!

The first time Victor attends the Winner’s Club, he’s not the winner. Well, he has just won bronze, but he’s still not the highest scoring Russian. It’s his first time in Europeans, and the whole skating world is new and shiny to him.

He has just skated his heart out in the gala and he’s pulling his comfy after skate clothes on when Vadim jostles his elbow.

“Time to go”, Vadim says and winks.

Victor’s heart gives an excited little patter. He will finally get to see what it’s all about even though he’s not the one to be celebrated this time. Vadim jerks his head towards the door, and Victor follows. Of course he knows where they are going; to some far away office or store room someone has chosen for the event. He’s happy Vadim is there to guide him. He’s a little nervous, but his palms are tingling with the knowledge that he’ll soon get to smack them soundly on Nikolai’s behind.

Nikolai is the shining star of Russia. He’s from the Moscow team and he has just won gold. He’s already in the room, still in his flashy leotard, looking proud and happy. He still looks proud and happy as he pulls his leotard down to his feet. Victor feels mostly excited envy, he thinks that he would smile like that as well if he’d just won the European Championships. It feels a bit odd when Nikolai removes his dancer’s belt while everyone else is still clothed, and Victor glances surreptitiously around, but everyone seems to think it’s normal, and so Victor tries to look nonchalant as well.

Nikolai has strong sturdy legs and a slightly hairy butt. They all see it as he turns around and bends over the desk. He glances behind his shoulder and offers them one last proud smirk, and Victor thinks he’s a goddamned hero.

Nikolai barely makes a sound as they spank him in turns. Victor tries his best to mimic the way the other skaters lift their arms and aim their hits. All of them have been here many times before, he’s the only newcomer. Nikolai’s buttocks feel a little bit foreign and a little bit exciting under his palm.

As the rounds go, Victor notices how Nikolai’s skin starts to slowly gain colour. First pink, then darker. The first vivid red marks appear on his cheeks after Boris slashes them with a wicked looking belt. Victor jumps in shock as Nikolai makes a sound of pain and curses loudly right after.

Victor has had several lectures from Yakov on proper winner’s club etiquette, and last night Vadim showed him a few of the implements they would be using tonight, but it’s still different seeing it all in real life. All the tiny details like Nikolai’s breathing, the sounds of their palms hitting his skin or the rising heat in the room… It’s eye opening.

Victor watches Nikolai grunt and grimace and gasp under the heavy blows of Boris' paddle and the whoosh of Vadim's whip and he knows he wants to win gold next time.

He wants to be the one to bend over and receive that winner’s caress. Be the center of attention and take all that his competitors can dish out. He wants to be just as proud and heroic as Nikolai.

Nevertheless, he enjoys this too, and when the wooden ruler is thrust at him, he takes it with eagerness and lets it sing over Nikolai's vulnerable thighs with greedy want. He wants to see Nikolai cry and shiver and he wants to give him the best experience possible. But even more than that, he hopes that when his own time to bend over finally comes, there will be someone standing over his bottom willing to hit him just as hard.

A bit later, when he is offered the chance to try out the wide and sturdy leather paddle, he agrees quickly and is rewarded with yelps and gasps from Nikolai. He feels a particular thrill whenever his hit makes Nikolai wince or mewl. During the next round, he hits even harder and is finally able to make Nikolai curse out loud – and loudly to boot. He is immensely proud of his work.

When they finish, Nikolai’s behind is stripey and blotchy red. Victor feels awed envy when Nikolai stands up proudly and makes a show of wincing as he pulls on the soft sweats that someone has brought him.

As they leave the room, Nikolai smirks and pats Victor on the head.

Victor swears to himself that next time around he will be the winner.

* * *

Victor gets what he wanted only a few months after. It is the Worlds and he takes silver while Nikolai falls to the fourth place. They are all a bit grumpy that gold is snatched by an American skater, but Victor is still the highest ranking Russian and he know what that means.

It happens right after the gala show.

Yakov puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him that he has asked Vadim to take it easy. Victor bristles, he does not want special treatment. He tells Yakov as much, and Yakov chuckles.

“I know, Vitya”, he smirks and lifts one eyebrow, “but possibly you might come to regret the passion you gave Nikolai at the Europeans.”

Victor swallows and thinks: _no, never._ And then immediately after he thinks: _oh god, why did I have to hit him so hard?_

They lead him to a back room somewhere in the underground floors of the stadium. It is slightly dim in the room, and he is thankful, suddenly feeling shy peeling off his glittering exhibition costume. He is still high from the thrill of the skating and the applause and all the hype of the show.

He is soon naked though, and around him stand all the Russian male skaters; Nikolai, Vadim and Pavel. Vadim is from Saint Petersburg and Victor knows him well, but Nikolai and Pavel are from Moscow. Victor knows Nikolai by his fame and also from the Europeans, but he’s never met Pavel before.

Yakov is standing by the door, his arms folded and his expression neutral but watchful. He gives a small nod.

They are not in an office this time so there is no desk or table to bend over, but Nikolai pushes a high backed chair into the middle of the room. Victor shivers. It's cold and he suddenly feels very small. Pavel has a slight build, but the other two are large muscular men. Victor himself is tall as well, but his frame is narrower. He is still just eighteen, not quite come to his manly shape yet – at least he hopes so.

Why do they have to spend so much time standing around while he is naked and the other’s are fully clothed, anyway?

“Victor”, Nikolai says and Victor is happy to notice that there is no malice in his voice, nor sneer, just command and ceremony. He sounds proud even now.

“You got only silver, but you were the highest ranking Russian – this time.”

Victor grounds his teeth at the emphasis of _only silver_ and _this time_. He knows Nikolai means to win over him again soon. Victor is determined to prove him wrong, but he remains silent. Instinctively he knows that this is not his time to boast or complain.

“Will you yield your loyalty to the Winner’s Club by bending over and receiving your 248 as per your winning points?”

“Yes, Nikolai”, Victor says and hates that his voice vibrates a little. A lot.

He bends over though, folding over the chair back like Nikolai gestures and grasps the sides of the seat with his stretched out hands. Vadim pushes his legs close together, and Victor feels heat rising to his face. He must have flushed pink in embarrassment already.

They start with their palms like they did for Nikolai in Europeans. Vadim's hands are firm and steady, Pavel's fast and stinging. Nikolai's thunderous smacks send Victor rocking a little forward each time.

It's not really that painful yet. It stings a little, yes, but it's more humiliating than it's painful. He feels keenly the inelegance of his position and the way he is at the mercy of the other skaters.

It did not feel like this when Nikolai was bending over. Then the only thing Victor could think of had been the glory of Nikolai’s gold and the endurance he was showing.

Perhaps it's that he only got silver, perhaps it just feels different from this angle, but he feels keenly the degrading part of the ordeal now. He wishes the more serious swats would start soon, perhaps the pain would take his mind off of the way his arse must look: pushed up and probably slowly reddening like Nikolai’s had been and gently jerking this way and that as the hits land. He’s not the most elegant human being in the world right now, certainly, no matter what the tabloids claim.

“One hundred”, Yakov says finally, and there is a pause in the spanking. Victor’s arse feels hot and oddly like it’s pulsing. He knows the pause means that the spankers are switching to implements, and he shivers imagining all the different paddles and belts and rulers they’d used on Nikolai and wonders what he’ll get first and how it will feel. For the first time he wonders if he can take it.

What follows are some kinds of floggers, he thinks. The hits come softer and land on a larger area of his skin. It stings but it’s also curiously gentle at the same time. It feels almost cathartic, almost less painful than the palms had been, but still more thorough somehow, and with less of the intimacy of the palms. He winces with the sting of it a few times as the floggers land on the more tender parts of his legs, but otherwise it feels almost like a massage. It’s over sooner than he’d have hoped.

“One hundred and fifty”, Yakov says, and now there is clearly more excitement in the air. The guys are joking and laughing, and Victor feels it's all somewhere far away from him.

He also notices he is hard. He does not stress about it, though; he had noticed Nikolai had been a little plump too, at the beginning of his spanking. Nikolai had shriveled limp again once the more painful strokes had started.

Victor does not get limp, though, it turns out. He flushes rock hard the moment the first thunderous smack of a paddle smacks against his bottom. He yelps.

It's Vadim, and he’s hitting hard. The pain is shocking against Victor’s bum and it vibrates through his body in a way that makes his skin tingle all around. This is something.

This is something new. Exciting.

Victor pushes his hips against the strikes, and Vadim curses, gives it to him harder, and Victor moans. He is unashamed now. He can feel the awe in Vadim's small, “fuck”, and the respect in the sudden silence of the others.

It turns out he knows how to take a spanking after all.

The belt is even better than the paddle; it stings all over his buttocks and his thighs and he is flying high. Snot is flowing from his nose and tears from his eyes, and he wonders if the belt has made his arse turn dark red and welted yet, like it had done for Nikolai, but he still pushes his butt out, keeps his posture perfect, wants more of the sweet pain.

“Fuck, Victor”, Nikolai huffs as he suddenly steps closer and puts a hand on the small of Victor’s back. Then he inches closer still, close enough that his track pants brush against the outside of Victor’s left thigh. Victor frowns but it feels mostly good to be so close to Nikolai. Then he’s brought even closer as Nikolai reaches his hand over him and tucks his hips flush against him. His bum is effectively caught between Nikolai’s hips and his hand. Victor shivers.

“I still remember your ruler, Victor Aleksandrovich, and I have brought a very special paddle for you. There are these little holes in it, you see, so it swishes that much faster through the air. I hope it makes you scream.”

Victor moans in anticipation.

And then he screams when the paddle lands. The pain is new and surprising. The whack comes from above and lands a bit differently from all the previous hits. He barely has time to gasp breath before the paddle lands down again on his other cheek. It burns and it shocks, and Nikolai is not holding back, he is grunting and cursing almost as much as he was when he was the one being spanked. It’s hard to hear, though, since Victor is screaming his lungs out.

He is in heaven.

He has just won over the current Russian number one, Grand Prix Final and European champion, who is holding his hips and giving him the hardest trashing he can, and Victor is still taking it; bravely, beautifully.

When Nikolai's assault ends, Victor is crying openly, and his whole body is trembling, but he still pushes his hips back, and his cock is rock hard.

“Fuck, Vitya”, Nikolai breathes in clear recognition, and Victor sobs out from gratitude and pride. He doesn’t mind the diminutive, he feels that after something like this, they must know each other intimately already.

There are still some fifteen whacks and lashes from the others left, and he takes them shivering, quavering, all out moaning at the last ones.

When it's over he does not collapse like he has heard tales of past skaters, nor does he stand up stoically like he had witnessed Nikolai do. He is unable to move.

Vadim has to coax him up, untangle his fingers from the chair, and help him stand upright. They wrap him in a dressing gown and dry his tears, and he feels light and free. He wants to cry some more from the joy of it, but he’s suddenly afraid it would be taken the wrong way. At the same time, though, he is surprised to realize how much trust he feels for his fellow skaters right now. They would not mind if he cried nor would they think less of him. Not after what happened tonight. After tonight, they will be bonded forever.

“Thank you”, he croaks out.

Nikolai ruffles his hair this time as well.

“You're all right, Vitya”, he says, and it makes Victor want to preen. He knows it's all probably a little messed up, not normal, but then, he is a top tier figure skater; his life isn't meant to be normal.

They take him to his room, and he just waddles in and drops onto his bed. He comes after just a minute or two of uncoordinated wanking and falls asleep on top of the wet spot.

In the morning he spends a longer time admiring the still red welts across his arse than he does looking at his silver medal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This is a BDSM fantasy story. I’m a submissive masochist, but I’ve not been hit by this many implements at once nor have I personal experience on all the described implements. Most of this is therefore completely imagined and fantastical. If you want to do real life play, please do careful research and be safe. I’m always happy to talk about BDSM, however, and you can also check my super mini suggestions in my profile bio.
> 
> 2) I went with the score scale seen in the show, which is quite a bit higher than the scores in real life. Victor’s score in his last Grand Prix Final is 335 and Yuri’s and Yuuri’s scores are around 319 the following year. Scores for Grand prix level skaters seem to be somewhere between 220-340, winning scores around 300 or over. I’m presuming that when Victor was first starting, winning scores would have been a little lower, perhaps something like 240-280.
> 
> 3) The Winner’s Club only meets if there are more than two Russian skaters in the males competition. I’ve taken liberty of writing more than three Russian skaters participating in several European and World Championships even though in real life the maximum number of skaters from the same country is three. But it’s so much more fun with more spankers! We can imagine that this is the Yuri on Ice spanking universe where five skaters from Russia is completely normal.
> 
> 4) Why Russian skaters? Well, only because I wanted to spank Vitya and it seemed more plausible to have a secret non-sanctioned spanking club of skaters of just one country rather than an international club. 
> 
> 5) Okay, in real life there would be no way athletes would agree to this heavy play during active season and probably not even off season. But hey, it’s fiction. Perhaps in this universe they heal faster?
> 
> 6) Sorry for way too many notes!
> 
> 7) PS: Next chapter is coming soon… It’s the following Nationals, and like the chapter title will say, we will be “In Nikolai’s Hotel Room”.


	2. In Nikolai’s Hotel Room

“You sure?” Nikolai asks. He looks terribly broad standing in his hotel room door frame.

Victor only nods. Of course he’s sure, he’s gathered all his courage and knocked on Nikolai’s door. He didn’t do this on a whim. Nikolai is not exactly known for his sociability or kindness. He also has large hands and a terribly harsh aim. Victor would know.

“Okay then, golden boy”, Nikolai says in a mocking tone. Victor swallows.

Nicolai still doesn’t move, just stands there, making Victor wait in the corridor.

“You understand this is not a Winner’s Club sanctioned thing?”

“Yes”, Victor nods. He knows. There is no Winner’s Club in national events. But he really needs to be spanked; he’s just won gold in Russian Nationals, and it doesn’t feel like a victory to him without the pain. More than that he’s just beat Nikolai on their own turf for the first time and he wants his reward. He also wants to give Nikolai his respect by bending over for him.

“I won’t bend over your knee when I win next year”, Nikolai scoffs and leans against the door frame.

“You don’t have to”, Victor gulps and shakes his head.

“This is just because you’re a little wimp and cannot take a gold without a proper administration on your arse”, Nikolai continues with a smirk, clearly trying to aggravate Victor, but Victor just bites the inside of his lip.

“Yes, Nikolai”, he answers and lowers his gaze to the floor. He remains meek and dutiful because he has a feeling that that’s what Nikolai likes.

“Fuck, Vitya, all right”, Nikolai huffs and gestures him inside.

Nikolai’s room is identical to Victor’s; tiny and plain, but comfortable enough. Nikolai walks to his bed and sits down on the edge. He pats his lap.

Is Victor supposed to lean over? He hesitates.

“Well, you want to get your present or not? Little boys need to drop their pants and bend over the knee if they want their presents, you know”, Nikolai sneers.

It’s humiliating. Victor is already hard. He has been hard all the way walking from his own room. He has been hard ever since he decided he would come over and ask Nikolai to spank him. But Nikolai just sits there looking confident. Like he doesn’t care one way or another. Victor cares. He needs to feel smacks landing on his butt tonight. Desperately.

Having to drop his pants here, though, in front of Nikolai. Nikolai seeing his erect cock. Having to fold over Nikolai’s lap like a kid being admonished. It’s humiliating.

He supposes that’s the idea.

Nikolai mimes checking his watch, and Victor’s hands fly to his belt. He cannot afford to risk Nikolai changing his mind. He opens his belt and his pants are down before he has time to think about it. He pulls his underwear down as well, he won’t ask if he can take the spanking in them, they are not allowed underpants in winner’s club either.

His hard cock bounces a little as he walks over to Nikolai and he blushes furiously. Nikolai makes a point at looking at his erect cock. He lifts one eyebrow. Then he pats his thigh.

“Well, bend over. I see you’re eager.”

Victor blushes again. Does Nikolai have to be so cruel? But he bends over like ordered. Nikolai wears jeans, bleached fashionable ones, with long artistic rips above the knees. He smells manly and tough. He jostles and guides Victor to lean so that his torso rests on the bed and his legs fall to the floor.

Nikolai rests one hand on the small of Victor’s back, and it all suddenly feels too intimate. Victor bites his lip.

“Now”, Nikolai says, “I don’t want to hear a sound from you, the walls in this hotel are not too thick.”

Victor nods, but is unsure if Nikolai notices. Nikolai has laid one large palm against Victor’s bare arse. God it’s large. It covers his whole cheek.

“I’ll give you your score, 262. Or something thereabouts. I’m not the best at counting.”

Which means that Victor is at Nikolai’s mercy here. Victor knows he will be unable to count after 30 or so. Nikolai can give him 600, and he won’t be able to argue. Nikolai probably will give him more than his score.

“Fuck”, he whimpers into the bedding.

“Not a sound”, Nikolai admonishes, and Victor’s cock stirs. Oh fuck, he’s so screwed.

The first slap feels like nothing. He just jolts a little forward on the bed. During the first 10 or 20 he is mainly conscious of the ludicrous position they are in, the rough feel of Nikolai’s jeans against his thighs and groin and the smell of hotel laundry on the duvet.

Then his arse starts to feel a little warm, and he becomes conscious of the way his bottom moves during every slap. He knows he has a good bottom. Gorgeous even. But the thought of the view Nikolai has of it now sends chills up his spine and tingles allover along his skin. His bum cannot look magnificent from that angle, can it? Slightly bouncing on each slap. Turning slowly red.

He jolts a little forward from each slap and he’s starting to get used to the constant rocking. The hits are feeling harsher already. Are they even on 40 yet?

He pictures the image they make in Nikolai’s hotel room. Nikolai sitting there, his expression stoic, Victor’s bum swaying back and forth on his lap, under his broad palm. Victor feels a new flush of embarrassment creeping over his face. There is no feel of “endurance in the face of adversity” here. This is no battle with his colleagues. This is not something he has to submit to or admit defeat. This is not testing his limits.

This is not Winner’s Club.

This is something he wanted, came here particularly and asked for, pleaded for. God, if Vadim was here, Victor would never hear the end of it. How he’d gone and pleaded to be punished like a little kid. Like he’d needed the acceptance of his elders.

He supposes he does need just that. He’s glad Vadim doesn’t know though. Vadim has never been under the belt. Vadim does not understand.

Victor thinks Nikolai understands.

Nikolai switches something then, grabs his hips and tilts him into a new position. The next spank lands a little lower and it sends sparks of excitement down his legs and up his torso and to be honest, mostly deep to his groin. It hurts. After the fifth of these new spanks he whines. And groans afterwards because jeez, is he whining already? It can’t be much more than 50 and he’s whining like a little baby? It’s only Nikolai’s hand and, god, Nikolai can go on for as long as he pleases. Cold dread settles in Victor’s belly and bunches up his shoulders. He bites his lip again. His cock is harder than ever.

The next spank jolts him forward again, and his teeth clash against his lip. He quickly releases it and pants his mouth open for the next few hits. His lip smarts, and he wonders if he drew blood. The spanks have started coming faster, closer to each other now. Small huffs are coming from his throat, but Nikolai isn’t silent either. He’s grunting with each blow, and Victor finally feels a little bit like a winner when he hears it.

Victor grunts himself when Nikolai heaves him up once more and starts delivering smacks even lower, on his upper thighs. Victor has to concentrate on his breathing, and his cock is impossibly hard now, rubbing against Nikolai’s jeans. He wonders if Nikolai will mind his jeans soaking from Victor’s precome.

Then Nikolai moves again, this time shuffling his legs under Victor and then lifting one up to hook it over Victor’s left knee. In this position Victor’s legs fall open and, god, he feels so exposed and vulnerable like this, but the thought is fleeting before a new pain explodes. Nikolai has started to spank the tender insides of his thighs, and it stings more than anything yet tonight.

“Fuck, Vitya”, Nikolai gasps. He sounds breathless. Victor’s head is buzzing. The swats against the insides of his thighs hurt like hell, but the feeling is so forbidden and erotic that his mind is spinning and his belly is flip flopping.

“Fuck, do you feel it, kid? Fuck, cry out for me, you little shit”, Nikolai grunts. He’s clearly frustrated and angry. Victor’s cock spurts out a little more precome. He’s so horny he can’t quite comprehend it.

Nikolai lands a volley of smacks to the delicate place where his thigh meets his buttocks, and on each hit his fingers brush unbearably close to Victor’s balls. Victor wants to scream, but he’s afraid it would sound too much like a moan of pleasure so he swallows his sounds as best he can.

Then in an instant he’s on the floor. Nikolai has stood up, and he’s tumbled down. He grunts as his tender ass brushes against the coarse hotel room carpet. He’s still wearing his tee-shirt and Nikolai grabs him from the front of it and hauls him up and then down again: to lean over the small round table in the corner of the room. A chair tumbles out of the way as he shoves Victor a little to the right so that he has more room to stand behind him.

Victor cranes his head back to see Nikolai sliding his leather belt out of it’s loops and Victor moans.

Nikolai grabs his neck in a painful pinch and pushes him hard against the table so that he has to squeeze his cheek against the cold table top. He cannot look at Nikolai any more.

“Fuck, Vitya, I’m going to give it to you so good”, he gasps, delirious and angry.

He releases Victor’s neck, but Victor doesn’t dare rise up any more. He grabs the edge of the small table and shivers. Nikolai steps flush to Victor’s hips, his back to the table and facing the room. He grabs Victor’s hips with his left hand, leaving his right free for spanking. Just like he did last year in the Worlds. Victor remembers the intimacy and the pain this position offered and he wants it to start already.

He cries out when the first lash lands on his bottom. Nikolai’s belt is harsh and he’s hitting even harder. The swats are coming from above, the belt is bent double and it swooshes in the air each time before it lands. It paints strips of pain over his buttocks and down to the tops of his thighs.

Victor wants to kick and buck, but he doesn’t. He’s a little afraid of what Nikolai might do and he wants to be a good boy. Fuck he’s messed up in his head, but this feels ecstatic. Nikolai is so strong and so big, and he feels small like this, even though he’s just as as tall as Nikolai this year.

When Victor’s arse finally catches fire, his heels start kicking on their own. He does not mean to, but he cannot help it. He feels like he cannot possibly take any more of this.

Just as fast as he’d been dropped to the floor earlier, Nikolai grabs the back of his tee-shirt and pulls him upright. His shirt tightens uncomfortably against his throat, and Nikolai’s breath is hot in his ear.

“Back over my knees, you wimp”, he growls, and Victor feels alive. Nikolai is really angry now; angry and passionate and something else. Victor is not afraid of him, only exhilarated to see – and feel – what happens next.

When he is spread over Nikolai’s lap again, he knows the feeling for what it is. Nikolai is hard.

Victor almost faints from the knowledge, his hard cock so close to Nikolai’s obvious bulge in those torn designer jeans. Nikolai’s large hand lands over and over against his aching arse, and he moans and trashes with abandon. Nikolai is grabbing and shaking his bottom now after every other stroke or so. It’s like he can’t get enough of Victor’s flesh from merely spanking, and Victor wants him to grope him and spank him and do whatever he wants with him. Only he should do it now and it should be… more.

They are both grunting now, and this whole thing has turned into something else entirely. Their cocks keep rubbing against each other through the rough layer of Nikolai’s jeans and it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough for either of them.

Victor folds before Nikolai does.

“Please”, he pants to the mattress, “please, let me suck you.”

He does not need to ask twice, Nikolai has already hauled him between his legs and is opening his fly. Victor has never done this before but his mouth is full of Nikolai’s luscious cock before he has time to wonder if he knows what to do. He sucks eagerly and fumbles a little, but Nikolai tangles his large hand into Victor’s hair in the nape of his neck, and Victor is happy to let Nikolai guide them through this.

“Fuck, Vitya, you little wimp”, Nikolai chants, and it sounds like music to Victor’s ears.

With Nikolai taking the main responsibility of his movements, Victor has his hands free and uses the opportunity to sneak one down to his own hard cock.

He comes after just few wanks, his mouth still full of Nikolai’s cock. It’s hard to breathe, and saliva is drooling down his cheeks, and his arse is on fire as his skin stretches where he kneels over his bare heels. It is the best orgasm of his life.

It still takes a little while before Nikolai comes, and – other than being momentarily afraid of choking – Victor finds that wonderful as well.

When Nikolai has finished, they both look down and regard Victor’s spent cock with his sperm all over his thighs and the hotel room carpet. Nikolai laughs, the sound harsh, and Victor blushes.

“Vitya, you dirty little monkey. Who’d have known.”

Victor blushes, but he thinks that Nikolai has some nerve mocking him when he just came into Victor’s mouth.

Nikolai just smacks him playfully on the side of his head.

“Use your underpants to clean that up”, he points to the sperm on the floor, “and then put your clothes on and get out”.

Victor does. His spunk damp briefs feel unreal in his trouser pockets as he shuffles back to his own room. He’s glad no one happens to meet him in the corridor. When he gets to his room he looks in the mirror. His hair is a mess, his shirt rumpled and his face is blotchy red. But his eyes are more alive than he’s ever seen.

* * *

The next time Victor asks Nikolai’s help, Nikolai sneaks his hand between Victor’s hips and wanks Victor roughly while he wallops his ass beet red. When Victor offers to repay in kind, Nikolai merely shakes his head. His boyfriend would not like that, he says. Victor feels a little sad, but not surprised. He’s seen the dark haired guitarist waiting in the stands when Nikolai’s group had practice.

He does not knock on Nikolai’s door for a third time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an unusual one on one chapter for this fic. In the next chapter we will be back in Winner's Club for more group spankings! Promise!


	3. An End of an Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… eventually all my pure smut kinky stories dip a bit into emotions and philosophy as well, sorry not sorry about that. This is a slightly different chapter in that it’s perhaps more emotional than sexy and not everything transpires perfectly. There’s a very bad situation in a scene and it’s not dealt with as it should either. There is a note at the end of the chapter with a more detailed explanation if you wish to check it before you continue. If you wish to skip this chapter altogether you can do so without getting confused later (I hope).

The room smells of old sweat and iron. It’s an old gym, a small room that feels entirely appropriate. Everything reminds Victor of strength and power and pushing through pain. Everything is old and a little rusty, but the gym is clearly still in constant use. There is a clear disregard for anything but raw power, but, nevertheless, a careful hand has made sure that all the weights are in their correct places, and all the benches have been wiped clean.

Boris is there already, sitting on one of the benches, and he grins up at Victor as he enters.

“Ah, Vitya, here for your training again?” he asks playfully.

It’s an old joke, and Victor feels like blushing, but he smiles and winks at Boris. He’s just learned the wink. It seems to work as the ultimate weapon in situations where he does not quite know what to say or do.

He feels good taking the place in. He’s again in this place of fidelity and endurance. This changing room in which he gets to take his rightful place in the eyes of his peers, his elders.

It’s funny, but for Victor Winner’s Club exists in it’s own world, separate from his daily skating and his constant practice and his passion for artistry. He doesn’t think of Winner’s Club as he practices or as he prepares to skate out onto the competition ice. Nevertheless, to him the club has already become inseparably linked to winning, to the exhilarated unreal feeling of standing on top of the world. That moment is fleeting in his life, just 10 or so minutes of utter joy on the ice and then in the kiss and cry. Just 10 minutes in months and months of grueling practice. Those 10 minutes disappear as quickly as they arrive, but the club… The club allows him to remember his achievement for days afterwards. In his memories the feeling lingers even longer. Longer than the feel of applause or camera flashes ever could.

He’s just left Yakov and Gosha in the dressing room and has sneaked into the club room before his supposed arrival time. He wanted to have a bit of time to just sit with the old gang before Yakov and Ivan, the Moscow coach, appear, and the official business starts. Boris at least doesn’t seem to mind.

Victor likes Boris. He likes all of the skaters. Their wide rough smiles and their strong arms that circle over Victor’s shoulders as they introduce him to yet another international skater or as they demonstrate some trick or another that makes the life of the top tier skater in the ever changing international rink facilities easier. He’s sure he would have managed on his own too, but this way it has been much more… _fun_. Yes, that’s the word. He might have said _safe_ , but that’s not quite right. He would have been safe on his own too, but now he’s been safe enough to have fun.

There’s also a particular novelty in meeting this group of skaters in the club. Victor still remembers his childhood room with the worn and sun faded posters and newspaper clippings of Nikolai and Igor skating in the fancy competitions he barely knew the names of back then. There is a particular taste of glory in bending over for his old idols, and sometimes he wonders how the atmosphere might change when they will no longer be here. How could anybody be more intriguing than those who were great before you?

“Wow, Vitya”, Nikolai whistles behind him then, scattering Victor’s thoughts. “I knew you could do it!” he continues as he saunters into the room.

Nikolai leans over from behind and kisses Victor on the cheek. It’s a friendly kiss, but Victor wonders if the heat he feels rising to his skin will show on his cheeks.

It’s not like he cares for Nikolai like that. But still. It’s been a little awkward ever since they stopped meeting in Nikolai’s hotel room. And he still blushes, still remembers the crush for someone who’s graceful lines on his worn posters he’d traced with his tiny fingers again and again all those years ago.

Once more he wonders how Nikolai can be so blase about Victor beating him over and over. Back in the day Nikolai had been unbeatable. Certainly Victor had believed him so. The star of Russia forever.

Victor still doesn’t feel like the star of Russia himself. He’s constantly told he is, but there’s nothing tangible in that. Not really. But as Nikolai ruffles his hair like he always does here, in this space, Victor does feel like the star of Winner’s Club.

Igor arrives soon after and so his family of older brothers is present: Boris, Nikolai and Igor.

This is a moment for their camaraderie, and Victor smiles as they giggle and joke about this or that that happened during the competition. He sits mostly silent, but he is very much part of it all still.

He knows this is Boris’ last year, and Nikolai and Igor are getting older every year too. There is a younger crowd waiting to take their places, just like Victor had done to someone he’d never even said hello to. There’s a young skater from Moscow, Alexei, whom Victor has been following with interest, and then there’s Gosha who’s just now taking over Vadim’s and Pavel’s old slots.

Gosha is like a brother to Victor. They have skated in the same groups ever since they were 12 and Gosha’s family moved North to Saint Petersburg from a small town near Volgograd. They still share ice time and gym periods, and Yakov often trains them together. Despite that Gosha’s way to the top has been slower and rockier than Victor’s. But he’s made it this year, and Victor fervently hopes that he can keep up in the top ranks.

“Listen, be nice to Gosha, ok?” he says to the others now. He thinks back to how Vadim had been there for him during his first Winner’s Club and he feels keenly that he can’t be there for his friend today. The old gang is great, but they can come off a bit gruff at first. Before you get to know them, that is, and learn that they think of you as a their cute little mascot or a fun plaything and would never hurt you. Victor is a little bit worried for Gosha, because Gosha, for all his bravado, gets his feathers ruffled so easily.

“Don’t you worry, Vitya, we’ll show him the ropes”, Boris says.

“We’ll even let him spank you”, Nikolai smirks. It’s supposed to be a joke.

Victor doesn’t tell them that Gosha has already spanked him. More than once. He’d been curious about it, and Victor had offered to show him how – just in preparation for when he would make it to the real thing! He’d spanked Gosha a little, and then Gosha had spanked him.

“So, now you know”, Victor had breathed, a little flustered.

“Yeah”, Gosha had agreed. He’d hesitated a little, but then he’d asked, “Next time… Can we? Can we just do it the other way around? I mean… with me doing the spanking.”

Victor had bit his lip and nodded.

No, it isn’t like that! Not at all. Gosha doesn’t… Well, he likes it, but he doesn’t _like it_ like it. He just. He gets frustrated sometimes. When Victor learns a move that he can’t master yet, for example. So spanking is the perfect way for them to let off some steam between them. Gosha doesn’t mind that Victor gets hard. And it isn’t like they do it often.

But it’s important to Victor that Gosha gets a good start at Winner’s Club now, that he learns to like it. He remembers how apprehensive and stupid he’d felt himself during his first time – at least in the beginning. The older skaters had seemed so much more experienced and worldly. He doesn’t want Gosha to feel left out. He hopes Gosha will stay in the top ranks and Gosha certainly has the skills for that. He could be an important participant in Winner’s Club in the coming years. But he takes even small rejections hard and has a tendency to despondency. Victor doesn’t want the older skaters brushing him off.

He also desperately wants Gosha to learn how it’s done. Properly. To learn from the old gang so that he can keep up the traditions. Because Gosha would be great at that, too.

Victor still looks up to Nikolai, Igor, and Boris. They had been skating on international ice when Victor had still been circling in his small neighbourhood rink in the outskirts of Saint Petersburg. The feeling of being handled by them is immense. They know what it all means. They have history and authority, and Victor learns something new from them during each competition and during each club meeting. He wonders how things might be when one day they might all be retired. Would they remember him, their little brother who was too smart for his own good? And would there be any respectability left in the Winner’s Club then?

Victor sighs. But then he smiles too. Because they are still here today and they still have a few lessons to teach Victor. As if to prove the point, Igor turns to him and one half of his mouth curls to a wry smile.

“I have such a treat for you tonight, Vitya”, Igor says, “Just for you… Four different canes! I know how much you like them.”

Victor shivers. In the three Springs he’s been bending over in Winner’s Club, he’s learned that, without a doubt, canes are his least favourite implements. It’s no secret to anyone else either.

There is something so harsh about them. There is a softness in belts and even in whips that Victor likes, and there is a broadness in paddles that makes the pain wide and all-encompassing. But canes are hard and they sting and there is no leniency in them. It’s hard to explain… They are just… brutal and nasty to him. And now he knows he’s going to get a lot of them tonight.

He’s not sure if he hates or cherishes Igor’s habit of always announcing everything beforehand. This way there are no surprises to be sure, but the period of explicitly dreading what’s coming next is much longer. Victor has learned that sometimes the fear of the pain is much more horrifying than the actual pain itself. It’s never the 10 strikes that are being delivered, it’s the wait for the next 10 that really sets Victor’s skin crawling and the blood humming in his ears.

Ivan, the Moscow coach, comes in next and has a quiet word with Boris, probably congratulating him on his last competition.

Yakov and Gosha arrive only a minute later. Victor smiles at Gosha and asks him to come over with his eyes. Gosha does, and Boris immediately grabs his shoulder.

“Georgi Mikhailovich! Great to meet you. You look like you have a strong arm. Have you practiced your aim?”

“A little, yes. Great to meet you all”, Gosha says and smiles.

Victor feels relieved and elated already.

And right after, he feels the familiar cold dread rising to his chest and his throat. Gosha’s strong arm and Boris’ smile… His skin feels suddenly prickly.

They are all here. Winner’s Club has convened.

He’d wondered whether coming here beforehand would diminish the feel of foreboding and fanfare of the thing, but now that he stands here, he suddenly does not care who walked in first and who last. They all ended up in the same room, and that’s all that seems to matter to his nerves and his cock.

Boris does the ceremonies this time around, and they must all think it’s appropriate because the atmosphere in the room is suddenly reverent and tangible.

“You’ve been our winner for a while, Vitya”, Boris says, “Will you do us the honour and once more let us test you in the best and the most clever ways we can find?”

“Yes, Borya”, Victor whispers. He’s always liked Boris’ less than formal style. While Nikolai’s phrasing always made everything sound official and grand, there is an intimacy in how Boris acts and speaks. It doesn’t make the vow any less festive or solemn, but it certainly makes Victor more emotional about it.

Victor is still in his gala costume like he’s supposed to be and he’s glad to get rid of it now. Half dried sweat has already been tickling him for a while.

It still feels a little bit odd for Victor to have Nikolai see him naked. There is a lingering of things left unsaid between them even though they’ve met at winner’s club a few times since their last private “club meeting”. Sometimes Victor thinks it’s a bigger deal for Nikolai. He’s the one who occasionally looks like he wants to say something. Victor doesn’t have anything to say, not really.

He had a good time with Nikolai. Well, he had a phenomenal time with him, actually. He’ll always remember Nikolai as his first, but… After some sleepless tearful nights, he’s come to the realization that Nikolai is not really for him. He’s close, yes, but still not quite what he’s looking for.

So it’s not uncomfortable for him to have Nikolai in the Winner’s Club. Just. Well. A little weird. Like Nikolai is faking or hiding something. Which he isn’t, he really isn’t. But still – Victor thinks this would be different if Marco didn’t exist, and if they were here just the two of them.

Ever since last year, though, Nikolai has taken a step back from the leading role he’d often had in winner’s club before. It’s fine with Victor, he likes the gang scheming together actually. They seem to be more, well, _more_ when they act together. Like they are now, all leaning over each other’s shoulders and grinning at him with glee in their eyes.

There’s an ancient looking leather gym horse in the middle of the room, and Victor is asked to bend over it. He takes the few steps to stand at the short end of the horse and notices that it’s been adjusted to be just the right height for him to lean over and lay his torso on top of it. The leather feels cool and soft against his chest, and he turns his head to rest his right cheek against it. He does not know what to do with his arms, there’s really no place for them on top of the narrow horse and nothing to grab, but Boris tells him to hug the horse underneath him. He does. It feels a little funny, but comfortable and secure enough.

Just waiting in that position already makes his belly flutter.

He shivers as Boris’ first smack lands against his bottom. It feels so good to be here. With these people whom he trusts and respects. He wants to show how good he can be for them. For Boris, for them all. One last time when they are all here together.

The smacks of their palms feel like a balm. He lets the thuds lull him, lets the laughter make him anxious and lets the slowly gathering heat and pain in his behind flame his arousal. He listens to the talk around him and follows who’s spanking when. It seems like the club has already found a liking to Gosha. He has decent technique, they praise, and Gosha quips a few not so flattering jokes of Victor that the other guys laugh heartily at. Victor’s cheeks heat up in squirmy shame, but he feels elated for Gosha. There is a slapping of hands behind him that Victor is sure are friendly high fives and shoulder slaps.

His bottom is slowly warming up. It’s a familiar feeling of building arousal and excitement. At this point he’s usually welling up with feelings of invincibility and bravery. The fear and the terror of the harsher hits come later. Not that he’s ever really afraid. He couldn’t be with his friends and brothers here. Sometimes he thinks that out of all of the people he knows, these are the ones he’d trust with anything. Anything.

He knows all of the guys well enough that he can recognize them from their swats. Gosha’s smacks are in no way left behind his elders’. Victor’s own palms are getting sweaty, and it becomes harder to grip the underside of the horse, but he tightens his hold.

Then a belt is slashing across his behind, and he whines from the sweet pleasure. A paddle is swung a few times after the belt, but at least half of Victor’s concentration is now turned to the chilly anticipation of the canes. Every time there’s a pause, he wonders if the next hit is going to be it, the first taste of those four dreaded canes. Are they finally at the moment he’s been waiting for and fearing? At the point where he can really prove his loyalty. It’s almost a shame not to enjoy the moment fully, because the belt is again tempting loud moans out of him… Or is the dread only adding to the pain? He’s not sure.

Boris is wielding the belt at the moment, and it’s making delicious patterns of agony on his skin. His last yelp turns into a moan that makes his whole body shiver in arousal and want.

Igor hums, and this time Victor is sure of it it even before Igor says it.

“Oh, I think Vitya is ready for the main course!”

Igor’s voice is excited and eager. Like always, he gives a small lecture about the different canes first. How one is made of this and the other of that, and where he acquired them and – this time – how he explained to the shop owner that he had a very particular bottom to treat. Victor does not much like the implication that perhaps the owner could have guessed who would be spanked by that cane. Speaking of Winner’s Club is strictly forbidden. But of course people talk around it all the time.

While Igor speaks, there’s really nothing for Victor to do but to hang on to the gym horse and hope that the lecture will end soon. More than half of what Igor says goes in one ear and out of the other. Still, with each word, Victor’s fear of the canes grows. His skin prickles with goosebumps, and there is a sick burning in his throat and on his temples. His ears are humming with the familiar heated vibration of alarm. It’s a delicious dread, and his cock is rock hard. He breathes as evenly as he can, but nervous shivers still course through his body every now and then.

Then there is silence, and Victor knows what it means. His heart leaps to his throat.

The swish of the first cane is loud in the air, and Victor howls as it lands.

“Oooh, nice, huh?” Igor chuckles, and Victor feels tears burning behind his eyes.

The next hit lands a tiny bit below the first one, and Victor knows from experience that Igor can make the pattern as precise as a striped cloth.

He gets five or six more like that, each one a little below the one before. Victor has to yelp or curse for each hit. They feel like disaster and punishment and regret put together, and his cock is hard and leaking as he pants through them.

There is a pause and then something a little cool brushes against his skin. Igor’s fingers, he realizes after a beat. His skin must be burning hot to make Igor’s normal skin temperature feel so cold. Igor hums and brushes his fingers up and down his cheek. Victor thinks he can almost feel the small bumps forming on his skin, but he knows he’s probably just imagining it. Probably these hits did not cause his skin to pucker yet. Igor has four canes after all.

“I think your thighs can take this one easily”, Igor says with clear eagerness in his voice.

Victor does not agree at all, not about the “easy” part, nor with Igor’s apparent eagerness, but he takes a gulp of air and turns his head to stare at the other wall for a change. He can take this. He can take the thighs and he can take all the four canes. He’s a fucking gold medalist. He can take a tiny little rod of wood against his bottom.

The pain of the first hit against his upper thighs makes him shriek, and tears prickle in his eyes. Four canes feels much too much. Much too much too much. The second hit lands and he fumbles to grab the horse tighter. The horse feels too large now, hard to wrap his arms around. He’s grabbing one arm with the other, but it still feels precarious. Not because of his position, but because of the pain.

He’s sobbing when Igor retires the first cane.

The next cane is from that particular shop Igor told them about, or so Igor reminds him, and Victor really doesn’t care but he’s afraid of how it will feel. It turns out that it’s thicker, and the hit feels like a shock and a slash and a thud at the same time. His hands slip and he’s frantic to find his hold again, but Igor hits again and the pain seems to slip him into two. His head has lifted up and he’s shrieking.

“Let him settle, Igor”, Yakov says evenly behind them, and Victor is thankful. He manages to grab his wrist again and squeezes his eyes shut. He wheezes through the few more this cane has to offer and he’s immensely thankful that Igor does not hit his thighs with this one. Probably it would be too heavy for that.

“The next one is one of my favourites, Vitya”, Igor says and he sounds a little dreamy now. Victor does not know why that tone of voice gets his cock to jump, but it does. The idea that Igor enjoys this, that they all enjoy this… That they like his pain…

That’s – immense.

The slash of the third cane is almost unbearable. It feels like it’s splitting his skin and cutting him in half, like his brain bursts open and his breathing ceases. He’s shivering on the horse and mostly hopes he can remain upright and standing through this by the force of sheer luck. His body feels like it’s frozen in place and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks it’s funny that he’s not kicking and screaming. Perhaps it’s the position: Is it the awkward hugging of the horse that’s taking all of his attention? Or perhaps he’s afraid of tumbling over if he even _thinks_ of lifting one foot off the ground?

This cane draws one shriek after another from him all they way down to the dip under his bottom. The pain burns even more tears out of his eyes when the hits land in the crease between his thighs and his buttocks. He opens his eyes only to notice that his vision is blurred and wet. When did he even close his eyes?

The slashes against his thighs are pure agony. He’s shaking and gasping now, but somehow still holding in place on top of the horse. He’s flying in a haze of gorgeous arousal. Hit after hit of impossible pain.

Then…

It takes him a while to understand that nothing’s hitting him any more. There’s a pause in the spanking, but he’s still keeping up a constant noise, a low keening in his throat. He breathes in and swallows, but it’s not like his mind has any capacity to feel any embarrassment for his whining right now. His mind is filled with pain, and there is no room for anything else. His whole bottom and his thighs are burning and pulsing and screaming that this is wrong, that he should do something to get away, that this should stop.

This is a part he cherishes, too. This is where it feels impossible and yet it isn’t the end yet. This is where he gets to show what he’s really made of.

He forces himself to relax again and evens out his breathing into a tremulous keen and a fast in-drawn breath and another keen and another breath. Igor gives him a few last hits with this third cane, and it almost feels like Victor has the hang of it now. He just has to go with the flow, to breathe in time with the hits. He has to surf the top of the wave, breathe in time with the pain as it comes, and if he’s already keening as the pain flashes through him, it’s much easier to howl.

Then it ends, and Victor knows there’s one more cane left.

“The last one is quite tough. Perhaps not for such ninny softies as you are Vitya, but we’ll try it”, Igor says, and it’s just his normal taunting. Saying things to mock Victor and to make him rise up to the challenge. Victor feels almost like laughing, because for sure he can take anything now.

The first whack lands in the softest part of his bottom, the part already smarting worst, and Victor thinks he’s never felt that much pain. Not even when he took a bad fall from a salchow and fractured his wrist when he was 13.

Before he can think of anything else, the second hit lands and the sudden feeling of “no” is so immediate that it pierces him like a dagger. For the first time in his three years of senior career and Winner’s Club, he feels an instinctive need to say _no, stop, this is too much, you’re hurting me, I don’t want this._

The feeling is so fierce that he’s surprised by it. The other surprise is that at the same moment he realizes that he wants it to stop, he also realizes that he’s utterly incapable of moving or uttering a sound. He honestly plans to open his mouth, say something, but nothing happens. It’s like there are no connections from his burning mind to the place where he gives commands to his body to move or speak.

He is floating in this calm place where everything just happens and he can’t make decisions on his own. Only – he would like to, now.

He’s not panicking really, it just feels peculiar. Perhaps a little creepy. The feeling of “no” is still there, but he exists along side of it just fine. He’s trying to make sure what’s going on, and he knows he’s in Winner’s Club. He knows all his friends are here, Yakov is here. He knows nothing bad can happen to him here. And yet it feels only worse somehow because these are his friends, his safety.

At the same time he feels far away from it all. Like this feeling he’s experiencing is happening in another time.

Another hit lands and his chest curls in. He notices that the leather of the horse is wet and a little sticky. The pain is worse now and he wants out of it, but suddenly he cannot cry out anymore either. He huffs out air and breathes in and his eyes are wide, but he’s not sure what he sees.

The next hit makes him feel dizzy. He wonders what will happen if he faints from the pain. Before this, he’s often wondered if that can actually happen. Now he feels rather sure it can.

There’s another hit, and he would scream, yell, shriek, but it’s a little hard to breathe now. A little bit after, he gasps and he screams then, his lungs finally full of delicious air again.

But no other hit lands.

He wonders if he’s done something wrong, if he’s screamed too loud. If he’s said something after all. But no, that’s not it. There’s a curious commotion in the room, a discussion, but it’s not about him.

“Yes, here”, Yakov is saying.

“Yeah, I can see”, Igor is saying, “No, no, I’m not – look!”

For a while Victor thinks they have noticed something’s not quite right with him, but it doesn’t sound like that after all. Then there’s a hand on top of Victor’s lower back, and he’s surprised to find out that it’s not Igor nor Boris nor even Nikolai or Gosha, but Yakov who stands there.

“You’re ok, Vitya. We’re just pausing to check something.”

And to someone else he says, “Yes, there is. Not a bad one. That cane has got to go, though.”

So perhaps they have noticed something. But would they not be speaking to him, though, if they thought he was not lucid? Is he lucid? People are standing close to him and discussing, but he’s not sure what they are talking about. He takes the time to take steady breaths in and out and check that his position is secure on the horse again. He notices his heart is beating wildly.

“I know, for sure”, Igor is saying.

“Of course”, Boris is saying.

But then he hears plastic cloves being pulled on and there are careful fingers on his skin again.

Yakov’s gloved fingers.

It dawns on him then. He’s very slow it seems. Because it’s obvious. The last cane must have split his skin. That’s a rule in Winner’s Club. No blood. Things are starting to make sense again.

Apparently it’s not a bad cut, though, because Yakov has not yet called the whole thing off. He’s crouching down and touching Victor’s skin now, and Victor feels a little weird being inspected like this. The cut must be on the outside of his left cheek as that’s where Yakov is prodding. Victor can’t really feel anything much different there. His whole behind is on fire like it always is at this point, and everywhere Yakov touches hurts. There’s no way he can feel a tiny cut amidst all that pain.

He flinches at a burn and he realizes it must be some kind of antiseptic. A cold something is then held against his skin and it burns a little but the cold feels so good at the same time that he shivers.

Yakov is giving out a constant lecture about something. His droning voice feels soothing, but Victor can’t really grasp heads or tails from it. He assumes that they must have spoken to him a lot during the whole thing, told him what was going on, that sort of thing. But he hasn’t heard – or understood – any of it.

He hopes they won’t expect him to converse, because he does not think his disappeared voice has come back yet.

But then Yakov leans over and asks him quite clearly, “Vitya, you ok?”, and Victor has no trouble to nod after all and say, “Yeah.”

Yakov remains there, his hand splayed between Victor’s shoulder blades and it feels good, safe. Yakov speaks in a low voice and it feels like there are just the two of them in the world empty of anyone else.

“I have disinfected the wound”, Yakov says, “It’s very small and we can continue, but we can also end this now. It’s in the rules. Do you wish to stop?”

“No”, Victor says immediately and wonders at it a little. He did want to stop just a while ago. He desperately wanted to stop. But he couldn’t say it. Why is he saying he wants to continue now when he finally can speak again? Does he want to continue? He’s not sure and yet he’s answered. The only thing he knows is that he does not want to feel like this. Ending things like this would leave a bad taste in his mouth. So he supposes his answer is correct.

He’s able to answer with more conviction when Yakov asks again. Yes. He wants to keep going. He wants to get rid of this feeling of disaster and disappointment that lingers over the whole thing now. He wants to show the club that he can take it. More than anything, he wants to get back to the feeling of flying.

He wants to release all of this tense worry that’s suddenly filled him.

Yakov straightens and addresses the room then, “You can whip or strap his thighs and you can use the paddles, lightly, but no more canes tonight.”

The ruling makes Victor breathe in relief.

The skaters shuffle around a little, and everything still feels awkward to Victor.

“I’m sorry about the blood, Vitya”, Igor says, his voice soft and hesitant. “It’s a shame about the canes, I’m sure you would have been able to take them, though, you took them so well.”

Victor feels a little bit like a cheat now, but it cannot be helped. He’s pretty sure he would have taken the canes, but he’s profoundly happy he didn’t have to.

“Not to worry, we can still have some fun”, Gosha pipes out, and Victor is so thankful to hear his cheerful familiar voice. He smiles against the leather of the gym horse and everything feels easier again. It’s like they are back at their home rink and they are running up the stairs all the way up to the seclusion of the rafters to watch the practice of the following group, and Victor can only think about Gosha’s promise to give him 40 for landing 4 more jumps than Gosha did in that day’s practice. There’s never anyone in the third gallery bathrooms at this time of the day, and Gosha likes to look at his face as he leans against the sink and gazes himself in the mirror as Gosha lets his hand fly against his bottom.

Then he’s back in the here and now, and the strap against his thighs feels like a miracle. The familiar pain is easy to categorize and in just a few hits, Victor feels more like himself again. The leather writes a story of bravery and achievement across his thighs once more, and he slowly melts into the repeated trustworthy ache.

He had lost his arousal at some point earlier, but now the tendrils of interest are slowly slithering back. The belt sings over his thighs, and electric thrills ignite from his groin once more. His thickening cock bumps against his belly and he’s almost ready to feel like flying again.

They grab the short paddle next, and Boris comes up with a way of hitting that lands mostly on his right buttock. It’s to avoid the cut, Victor knows, but he cannot help yelping from the concentrated pain in the smaller area.

He does not get back up to the high he was flying before, though. The strikes feel wonderful, but he can’t shake the feeling of slight unease that still lingers somewhere at the back of his mind, and he can’t really find the bliss of crying out. His tears have all dried by the time he receives his last hit, and he stands up shaken and dizzy. He feels the accomplishment and the awe like he normally does, but he’s more aware and more distant than he usually is. Is that even possible? But that’s exactly how it feels.

After he’s struggled into some clothes, Igor slaps his shoulder and shakes his hand. Boris comes to shake his hand as well, and then they hug tightly.

“I’m gonna miss you, crazy cat. You keep safe, ok?” Boris says, his voice a little gruff.

Victor blinks at Boris and nods. “You too”, he says, and he means it. Boris is entering into a life without skating, and for Victor it’s hard to even contemplate.

Boris seems to catch his meaning. “I’ll be okay, don’t you worry about me”, he says and smiles.

Victor kind of wants a tearful goodbye. He’s been expecting it, waiting for it, but the tears don’t come even though he feels the ache of them behind his eyes. He tells himself it’s all right; they will meet again tomorrow morning. He can cry then. They are all taking the same early flight to Moscow and then the Saint Petersburg team will continue with a connecting flight home.

Igor doesn’t notice his preoccupation. He hooks one arm around Victor’s shoulders and pulls him tight.

“I don’t think you’re even real”, he says, “that was something else. I knew you could take it, though. I knew it. But damn!”

Victor smiles ear to ear, he knows a compliment when he hears one. But he rather wonders if Igor would have hit him that hard if he’d thought Victor was real. Perhaps – just perhaps – it might be better to be a real person sometimes and not just an imagined hero. He wonders if Nikolai ever felt like that.

Nikolai’s been more silent than usual. He ruffles Victor’s hair, though, and for a brief moment they regard each other, their eyes level, their relaxed smiles frowning a little. It feels good. Like an acknowledgment. Of what, Victor is not entirely sure.

As they sit in the minivan on their way back to the hotel, Victor’s thoughts keep circling back to that moment when he suddenly couldn’t function. He wonders what would have happened had that cane not cut his skin. If Igor had went on hitting Victor, if that feeling of “no” had persisted. He does not for a moment think that the cutting of the skin and his small panic had anything to do with each other. He had not even felt the pain from the skin cut. Compared to all the other pain, it had not even registered.

No, it had been the force of the hits that had shook him. The way the cane had whacked him like he was nothing. Like he didn’t matter. Like it didn’t matter that he was there, hurting.

It’s a lonely feeling.

But would he have been able to speak up if it had continued on for longer? Had none of them really noticed that he was not… that something was…? No – he does not fault anyone! Because how could they have known? He hadn’t really known himself. He hadn’t understood at all in fact. He still doesn’t understand.

And if they had asked him – and if he had been able to answer – wouldn’t he have wanted to continue anyway?

The thought feels scary now. He does not know. He’s happy he didn’t have to.

* * *

He’s exhausted when they get back to the hotel. He’s still energized from the spanking, but he’s no longer aroused or hard. He still feels anxious from the lack of… _something_ and he feels certain that it’s because he couldn’t –

He feels he couldn’t take it. He did. But he also didn’t.

Yakov follows him to his room and forces him to take a shower. When Victor comes out, Anatoli, team Russia’s physiotherapist is there. Yakov charges Victor to listen to Anatoli and to let him treat his wounds. Then he expands into his usual mantra of do your stretches and drink your water and make sure you eat before you go to bed, and, sure enough, there is a tray of fruit and sandwiches on the small table.

After a few more words with Anatoli, Yakov leaves. Victor stands there, glances at Anatoli, and then plays with the belt of his bathrobe.

Of course Anatoli knows about Winner’s Club. All team Russia doctors do. It’s not embarrassing. Just feels a little odd. Anatoli asks Victor to lay on his belly on the bed, and Victor is thankful that the room service has made his bed. This feels intimate enough as it is. But Anatoli treats the small tear with efficiency and obvious routine; he disinfects it once more with quick movements and attaches a plaster that he says will also keep it breathing throughout the night.

Victor is about to get up, but Anatoli asks him to keep still. There is a click of a tube, and Victor closes his eyes. Soon there is a cool wetness spreading over his heated skin. Anatoli spreads the salve all over his bum and his legs. He’s avoiding the cut, but making sure every other inch of his heated skin is covered. His touches are clinical and efficient. There is nothing sexy in it at all. Victor still relaxes under the touch. It feels good to be taken care of.

Afterwards, they stand up again, and Anatoli talks to him about skin care. Victor knows it all already, but he listens carefully nonetheless and nods with each point. Anatoli has brown sorrowful eyes and a kind manner. He’s young to be a national team therapist, but that only means he’s skilled and passionate in what he does. He’s still much older than Victor, maybe 30 or so. He’s treated Victor before, given him a few massages and checked the mobility of his ankles a few times.

Victor has come to trust Anatoli with his body like he does with his own doctors in Saint Petersburg. So when Anatoli asks, his eyes serious and his body open, “How are you feeling, Victor?”, Victor takes a moment to think about his answer in earnest.

“I… I don’t know. Usually. I feel a little different usually.”

“It’s ok to react in different ways. You’ve been through a lot”, Anatoli says, his dark eyes searching something in Victor’s face.

Victor blinks at him. They are standing up since sitting down is not really a comfortable option for Victor at the moment. It does not feel awkward, but Victor still does not know what to say.

“I know”, he says, just to say something.

“Sometimes”, Anatoli says and then takes a moment to think about it. “Sometimes it’s ok to not to know, I think”, he says.

Victor breathes.

Then Anatoli reaches out and pulls him into a hug. It’s a warm hug, gentle and firm – and much too short. Anatoli grabs his bag and gets ready to leave.

“Call me if there’s any new discomfort. Or if you need to talk”, Anatoli says.

Victor nods. He follows Anatoli to the door feeling a little bit chocked. They say good night.

When the door closes behind Anatoli, tears finally prickle in Victor’s eyes. Not because he’s sad or because he wants Anatoli to come back or because he feels hurt. Just… Tonight was tremendous. Such a high and such a weird experience. All this time – during the disruption at the club and during the spanking afterwards, then getting back to the hotel, being treated – all this time he’s felt locked, unable to… anything. And now this small bit of kindness from Anatoli has finally burst him open.

He walks back to his neatly made bed, and tears are running freely down his cheeks now. He crawls onto the bed and wrangles the covers open with a yank and a struggle. He burrows into the fresh softness of the sheets and then he sobs and sobs and sobs into the pillow. His belly convulses and his mouth freezes open and it feels so good to cry like this, like he’s finally found what he needed. He wishes someone was here to hold him. Not Anatoli, not Nikolai, not anyone. Just someone who… He does not really know. But he cries and cries and cries, and he’s not hard nor is it erotic in any way, but it feels like an orgasm nevertheless. A release, a letting go. A relief and a high point and a falling down and a being caught into a warm embrace all in one. Like a huge wave that washes over him.

It lasts for a long time but he does not care, just lets the heaves wreck him and the cries shake him and the tears roll down his cheeks and soggy his pillow. It feels like a long journey and like just a flicker of a thought.

When his hiccuping cries eventually gentle and he can wipe his cheeks without them getting wet immediately again, he crawls deeper under the blankets and cherishes their coolness against his heated skin. With a flash of understanding, though, he jumps out almost immediately again. With shaking hands he fills his water bottle with fresh water and grabs the pain medicine Anatoli left. Then he turns and turns in the tiny room trying to collect his shaking thoughts.

The drying tears on his cheeks have settled into a fog of calm gentleness around him, a kindness towards himself that he does not think he’s ever felt before. It’s like he’s a little kid and he’s also the one taking care of himself and he’s doing such a good job with it. He hums half finished half shaking directions to himself. _Ok. You’re ok. Just grab what you need. Water, yes, the pills… Doggo! Where’s Doggo? You need to get Doggo, yes, Doggo._ He almost turns his bag upside down in search of his small silky furred dog toy and once his fingers close around one soft paw, he yelps. He hugs the toy close, fierce.

His tenderness towards the inanimate toy is immediate and almost scary, but it melts his heart away nevertheless. Even if there is no one to hug him, he can hug his Doggo. He will be so good to his Doggo. He will be so very good to him and then the world will be alright again.

He knows there are a few protein bars in his skating bag, Yakov keeps putting them there. Yes, there they are. Yes, the mocha and strawberry flavoured ones he loves. He grabs two. He remembers the fruit on the table then, but he can’t manage that much fuss. He’ll eat them in the morning.

Once he’s gathered his hoard he wriggles under the covers once more and grabs his phone. Doggo is there with him, under his arm, so close, so tender. He drinks a little and takes a bite of the bar and hugs Doggo closer and he feels raw and new and like a possibility of a person again.

He fumbles his phone closer and opens YouTube. Sure enough, someone’s already posted videos of yesterday’s competition and today’s gala. He scrolls to the free skate footage and watches. His mind is half on the video, half somewhere else, just enjoying the feeling of the win, of being the best, of having all the adoration. He does not follow his steps, he knows them well enough. Instead, he scans the crowd behind his skating and tries to find faces in the audience; excited, awed, exhilarated, smiling, cheering. He finds them. He cherishes each one he finds. When he skates, he can’t see them, when he’s practicing, Yakov’s face is always just the same passive mask.

Then the music stops, and there is the familiar surprising screech from the audience as he finishes. He looks at all the flowers being thrown onto the ice. He never gets to see them all after the competition, but he tries to catch a glimpse of each and every one of them now. There is one blue one, and a whole bouquet there, and that’s a dog toy, he’s sure of it, it has to be.

But the best is yet to come when they zoom in on the kiss and cry. He does not look at his own face; his skating he can handle, that’s his job, but his face always looks a little weird to him when he’s not on the ice. But he’s not interested in himself, he looks at Yakov: How he leans to hug the Victor in the screen. How he remains as stoic as he can, but Victor knows him too well to be fooled. He can see the tiny nuances that mean that his coach is happy and satisfied. The way his eyes are calm and level, the way the corner of his mouth curls to a familiar sarcastic downturn. The way he sits so straight and carefully not too close to Victor, but keeps glancing at his water bottle, nudges him to make sure that the Victor on the screen drinks a little.

Sure enough, Victor takes a gulp.

Then the numbers come up, and the way Yakov’s face transforms sends chills up Victor’s spine. There’s an _I told you so_ in Yakov’s eyes so pure and delighted that it finally settles all Victors anxieties and jitters. Yakov had known all along he would win. Yakov had known he had what it took. Yakov had believed in him, and he had done it.

He drowsily taps his alarm to wake him and snuggles deeper into the covers. Then he pulls Doggo close enough so that he can watch Yakov’s face too.

A calm has settled inside him. A calm that hadn’t come after the kiss and cry nor on the podium nor during all the pain in winner’s club. It had ascended as he cried desperate tears into his own pillow. It settles to his core now as he pulls Doggo close and feels it’s soft fur against his cheek. He falls asleep with YouTube open on his phone and sleeps tight and dreamless till morning.

* * *

They all meet at breakfast again, just like Victor had anticipated.

Igor pulls him to sit between him and Boris. They have piled the small chair pillows of several chairs – probably their own – onto this one and Victor grins. He sits down carefully. It’s always painful to sit after the club, but he cherishes that feeling too and cannot help smiling to his coffee cup now.

“You ok?” Igor leans in to ask when there is a particularly boisterous argument going on at the other end of the table.

Victor hums and nods, but Igor is not so easily satisfied.

“You sure? You just were so quiet afterwards. I’m afraid… I’m afraid it wasn’t…”

“No, it’s ok”, Victor is quick to answer, he doesn’t want to hear Igor saying it was too much.

“Look…” Igor starts, but Victor looks up.

“Ok, it was a lot”, he says quickly, blushing, “and… thanks for asking, I… I’m glad I didn’t have to take all of the canes after all”, he says and abruptly closes his mouth. Damn. He didn’t mean to say that, but it’s out now and he… actually… feels much better for it.

“You should have said something, Vitya”, Igor says looking miffed and Victor swallows, because there is a hot burning in his throat now. Those words feel like a slap in the face. Victor is mute again. But this is a different muteness. There just isn’t anything he can say to that.

“He doesn’t mean that”, Boris says on his other side, and it takes Victor a moment to realize that Boris is talking about what Igor said, that he has been listening in to their conversation.

“He doesn’t mean to blame you”, Boris continues, “he just means to say he’s sorry and that we should have kept it below extreme. Even when we know that you’re a little extreme sometimes.”

“It’s ok”, Victor says, but he’s thankful for Boris to have said that and he’s afraid they can hear it in his voice.

Igor squeezes his knee under the table, and Victor feels like chocking.

“The wound is ok?” Igor asks, and Victor is glad to be able to launch into a report about his check in with Anatoli that morning. The wound is much better.

They take photos in the lobby as they are waiting for their early airport shuttle. They are all tired and giggly and still riding the endorphins of the competition. Nikolai is being goofy, and Boris insists that Victor has to take out his medal for the pictures. They take pictures of all combinations they can form and then a million more with just him and Gosha side by side and grinning like loons, the Saint Petersburg friends.

The one Victor hangs up on his bedroom wall later on, though, is the one where he’s been lifted up by the other four. That had been a joke at first, but they do it nevertheless. It takes a little bit of maneuvering and at least seven blurry photos where someone is toppling over or Victor is gasping as his leg is dropping from someone’s grip. In the end they figure it out, and Mila behind the camera finally calms down enough to take the perfect shot.

Victor is laying horizontal, being held up by his friends. He is sideways, looking at the camera and holding his medal looking nonchalant and relaxed as if he could be chilling there forever, even though the careful arrangement had toppled over into a cackling mess just moments after the click of the camera. The guys are all supporting him, Igor holding his hips carefully and looking down with a concentrated smile on his face, Boris at the leg end looking up and sideways smiling at Igor and the others, Gosha in the middle of them all, giggling and happy, Nikolai holding Victor’s chest and pointing to his medal with a goofy and proud smile on his face. Victor’s expression is alive, and there’s no hint of a wink or a pretend gesture, just honest giggling laughter lighting up his face.

When he looks at the photo, he can still feel the choking surprise of happiness, and how it had felt to hug his friends tight just afterwards, in a giggling pile of camaraderie and trust and excitement, laughing so hard they’d all cried in the end, gripping tight to each other like it had been an end of a golden era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warning:**
> 
> There is an instance in this chapter where Victor is not able to safeword even when he wants the spanking to stop. This happens because he’s already dropped too far into subspace. He’s left upset and confused by his inability to speak up and he does not know why this happens. The scene goes on for a little bit longer even after he really wants it to stop. Things are practically resolved in the scene, but the occurrence is not discussed nor analyzed later on. Victor is left to do his own (emotional) aftercare which he manages. The chapter ends in a good and genuinely happy note. Nevertheless, things are not explicitly resolved or discussed even though they really should have been.
> 
> **A little bit preachy ramble about the warning stuff:**
> 
> What happens to Victor in this chapter is something that can happen to a sub if they get deep enough into subspace. This is why it’s so important for the Dom to really know their sub well before any extreme play, and for the participants to agree about limits before any play starts. This is also why relying on safewords alone can be very dangerous. The sub might not want to safeword because they get deep enough into subspace to mostly just want to please their Dom. This might make them consent to things they would not be happy about afterwards. They might also really want to safeword, but they might not be able to do so because they’ve reached this place where they are not an active participant any more and their natural reactions are off. I think both things might be present in what Victor is going through although the latter is perhaps more prominent. 
> 
> This can feel incredibly scary for a sub (and also for their Dom!!!), especially if they don’t know this kind of thing can happen, like Victor obviously doesn’t. I would think Victor would be smart enough to research this thing afterwards and perhaps talk things through with someone, perhaps even let Yakov know what happened. I have a feeling that everyone sensed that something was off, but they were still not able to read Victor well enough to understand what exactly was the matter with him. Perhaps Yakov even reacted so strongly to the apparently small cut because he had a hunch that something was wrong…? I’m not sure.
> 
> During the breakfast at the end, I think the guys were all young and embarrassed and decided to brush potentially scary things off with a simple “you ok? – ok” at the end. They probably didn’t want to go into messy details and start a probably very embarrassing discussion. 
> 
> However, I think the coaches really should have been more alert during the spanking and noticed something was wrong. But as they don’t think this is a real bdsm scene, probably they had no idea that this kind of thing could happen – which – _guys, not ok, do your research! You’re the coaches and you let your skaters practice BDSM!_
> 
> And one more note: I don’t think this would have happened had not Victor had full trust in his friends. If he trusted them a little less, he probably would not have gone that deep into subspace and would hence have been able to say no. On the other hand, if his friends knew him just a little bit better, they probably would have recognized what was wrong, I think. So they were just in a sweet (sour?) spot of knowing each other really well but not quite well enough. 
> 
> And one more one more note: Yeah, so, this chapter is meant to tell that they really are taking Victor to the limit each time. That’s kind of the point of their little club. So I guess it’s not so surprising that this happened after all. However, I promise that Victor will be safe (well, or “safe”) from now on. 
> 
> Next chapter (it’s almost finished!) will be full on sexy mode again, no bdsm philosophy, just porn! Promise! ;)


	4. Splitting Pain

When Victor receives his third gold medal in worlds, he scores a world record of 298 and his arse tingles already when he stands at the podium and lifts up his medal.

Worlds and Europeans are always better, he thinks, since there are more Russian skaters present. Winner’s Club rarely convenes during the Grand Prix as there are seldom more than two Russian skaters competing in the male category in any one event, and the minimum participant number for a Club event has always been three: one spankee and at least two spankers.

Of course Victor takes part in other smaller competitions and challengers as well sometimes, but it’s always better to win when all the best skaters are present. The competition is tighter and the spanks are harder.

This year, Gosha has traveled with him to the worlds once more, and Victor is jubilant about his success. Victor knows Gosha’s spanks well already, and Gosha has indeed taken to Winner’s Club with aplomb. He’s nicely taken over the place Vadim used to hold as Victor’s Saint Petersburg ally.

Like Victor anticipated, big changes have occurred in Winner’s Club. Igor and Boris from Moscow have long since retired and so have Nikolai and Pavel who lingered a while longer. Victor still shivers thinking about their combined cruelty in the club, especially Igor’s canes and Nikolai’s snark. Victor really misses them all. The canes and the skaters.

But the younger skaters are turning out to be promising spankers in their own right. They don’t have the brute force nor the innate authority the older generation had, but they have mean spirit and eagerness enough to compensate. This time there are four other Russian male skaters competing and Victor shivers in anticipation. In his experience – and he has quite a lot of it already – the spanking gets the meaner, the more spankers there are participating. As the winning spanks are divided among the spankers, they each get less time behind his arse and to compensate for their fewer number of spanks they all hit harder to get their money’s worth so to speak. Together, they also have a tendency to egg each other on.

Victor has felt Gosha’s touch more times than he can count, but all the others are younger skaters. Alexei is from Moscow and he scored the highest of his Russian competitors this year. He only barely missed the podium this time. Victor knows that taking the fourth place makes many skaters’ spanking especially passionate, and he’s eager to find out how it affects Alexei. Alexei has a strong arm and a lot of passion and the look he gave Victor when Victor skated out to start his gala performance was pure envy and hunger.

Gosha got fifth place, and he’s always been mellow and easygoing in the club, despite the dramatics he results to in his own life, but he hits skillfully and he has a way of getting everyone to cooperate. Depending on the situation that can be either good or bad for Victor.

The youngest of the five of them are Vladislav and Leonid. Victor knows that they both look up to him; they used to be big fans as little boys waving “Victor Wins” banners and Russian flags in the stands. But they are competing in seniors now and they’ve both already spanked Victor once; Leonid just last month in Europeans and Vladislav last year in Worlds. They are good friends and Victor wonders how it will be to get spanked by the both of them at once.

Yakov walks beside him as usual as Victor is guided to the secluded corridors and finally to the small dressing room chosen for the event this time. He removes his skates and starts to peel out of his costume. All the others are already showered and in their comfortable team Russia jogging suits. Victor comes straight from the bright lights and the cheers and the endless flashing of photographs that halted him longer on the ice than anyone else.

There are three ominously bulky looking skate bags on the benches, and Victor eyes them warily. The spankers have always had the permission to select and bring their own implements, but this many bags makes Victor shiver. He still remembers Igor’s assortment of canes and Nikolai’s special paddle, the one with holes for less drag.

Besides the bags something else makes Victor swallow. Ivan, the Moscow coach, is leaning against the dressing room wall. Ivan doesn’t always come to monitor the proceedings, but along the years Victor has learned that when he does, things are always worse for the spankee. Well, for Victor. Perhaps Ivan only attends if he knows there are nasty things in the skaters’ bags? As a coach Ivan is strict, stricter than Yakov even, but most of all he respects power and stamina. In Winner’s Club it translates into almost no leniency towards the spankee.

“Well, Victor Aleksandrovich, I hope you are not regretting your world record”, he drawls now, and his skaters snigger.

“Oh, he’s regretting not scoring more, more likely”, Gosha supports him, but his comment is met with only more giggles. Victor smiles but feels mostly anxious.

Victor knows Gosha has been scheming with the others ever since the short program scores were announced, and the possibilities of him or Alexei beating Victor dwindled to almost nil. Sure enough, Gosha goes straight over and gives Alexei a back slapping hug and a fist bump. By this point, Victor has been able to divest himself of the top part of his costume and he feels chilly in the room.

He feels suddenly shy rolling his tight leggings down. In theory, he should be used to everything in winner’s club by now, but in practice he still gets anxious every single time. He’s also already half hard just thinking of what is to come and he dislikes the fact that Ivan is here to ogle his bits. There is nothing to it, though, but to get through with it, and he swiftly steps out of his leggings and removes his dancer’s belt with slightly trembling fingers.

There are a few whistles from the younger crowd, but he’s soon guided to where they want him. In the middle of the room there are two benches side by side. Their long sides are adjoining so that together they form one double wide bench. The metal structure supporting the benches includes two tall poles on both ends and two thick rods with hooks for jackets crossing over them. He’s ordered to lean over the benches, but under the rods. He’s glad to notice that the metal structure is bolted to the floor and seems sturdy enough. There’s no way the benches can tilt or move.

He has to duck under the jacket rods to get into position, but there’s room enough below them to keep his legs straight and lean over to grab the edge of the further bench. Victor does so, and while it’s just like any other leaning position grabbing any low stool, he feels keenly the odd separation that happens: All his spankers are standing on one side of the benches; the side where his bum is pushed out as well. His head and upper body, however, are on the other side of the imagined divide, and he feels weirdly separated from everyone.

“Legs wider, we think”, Alexei says and prods Victor’s feet more open. Victor gulps but obeys. Winner’s Club usually positions the spankees with their feet close together, but this is not unheard of either. It makes him feel vulnerable and naked, though.

He wonders if this was Alexei’s or Gosha’s idea. He knows for sure that he’s spread his legs a little for Gosha’s playful spanks at their home rink a few times, and while Gosha’s never commented about it, he probably might have noticed Victor getting more flustered when Gosha spanked him like that. Being spread open like this here – and feet much wider than he ever dared place them himself – feels dangerous. He knows his genitals are not in immediate danger to be hit, but he shivers thinking that the position makes the spankers able to easily ogle at his hanging bits while they spank him. Victor feels his cheeks and ears flush hot from the thought of some of them bending down and looking between his legs.

“We have quite the variety for you, Nikiforov”, Alexei says, and Victor hears him rustling inside one of the bags. The use of his last name feels mocking and done on purpose. “But we’ll start with our hands like tradition dictates”, Alexei continues, and there’s a smile in his voice. Victor frowns when he hears more rustling. He cranes his neck to see.

The skaters are distributing what look like sturdy gloves.

“Oh, these?”, Leonid says when Victor looks at him pulling on black, thick looking gloves, “we’re not so proficient with spanking yet, you know, me and Vlad. And you’ve got so much spanking to be done today that we asked if we could use the gloves to protect our hands. Ivan said it would be ok.”

“It’s okay”, Victor hears Yakov confirm in a monotone, and he has to bite his lip. With the gloves protecting their palms, they will be able to whack him that much harder already in the beginning. And he has almost 300 to get through today. His cock jumps and his belly flips-flops dangerously.

Alexei is already standing behind him, and Victor doesn’t dare to check if he has gloves on or not. From the fact that Gosha was just pulling his own pair on and winking at Victor with a wide smirk, he suspects Alexei is equally prepared.

Now that he thinks about it, he wonders if the leather has been Gosha’s idea too. He remembers one evening last summer with Mila and Gosha, rather drunk at their favourite pub near the rink, when they’d discussed clothing, and Victor had announced “Leather, you can’t argue with that. Men’s legs just look the most gorgeous in leather.” Mila had shrieked with joy and heartily agreed, but Gosha had only shook his head and smirked. Why ever had Victor thought it would be a good idea to have your good friend as a participant in Winner’s Club?

Honestly, Victor does not have a leather obsession, he does not. It’s just that, well, the material does feel incredible against his skin and he’s still partial to the caress of a good leather belt. And yes, he’s viewed one or two porn videos where the protagonists wear leather gear and it’s…

The first smack of a leather glove lands squarely in the middle of his bum and jolts him forward and promptly scatters his thoughts on men’s shapely legs and muscular bums.

The smacks are stingy and harsh, but like always in the beginning, he feels mostly exposed and silly. Over the years, he’s come to cherish that aspect of the ordeal as well, though. There’s something in the humiliating position and the mocking words of his colleagues that never fails to send shivers up his spine. The silly shame makes his arousal churn and starts his blood pumping.

It happens this time as well. Alexei gives him all that he has, and Victor jolts forward with each blow. He feels his heavy genitals swinging front and back and he is convinced that Alexei and everyone else is gazing at them sway. His face feels hotter than his bum. When he hears the others snickering, he imagines they are pointing at his now completely hard cock and he feels dirty and humiliated. His hair is falling over his eyes, and his forehead is already sweaty making it stick.

It took only a moment for the chilly room to become heated. At least he’s kept his composure so far and hasn’t yet grunted or yelped.

The first round ends with Leonid’s slaps, first tentative and then increasingly more painful. Victor already hates the gloves with a vengeance. They make everyone spank much harder and some of the gloves feel rough against his skin. He tries to think that this is a special treat for him because he has just broken the world record. His own, but still. But he senses that in reality the gloves have much more to do with the fact that the skaters have become just a little bit aggravated that it’s always him bending over in the club. He understands. Some have even started calling it Victor’s Club, which – well…

Suddenly he feels lucky both the coaches are here. Certainly nothing too untoward can happen with them both present? Can it? He knows Yakov is strict about cuts, and he thinks Yakov’s kept a more careful eye on him in the last few years.

Leonid finishes with several hard hits close to each other, and Victor bites his teeth together.

“Take it… bitch”, Leonid huffs, and Vladislav cheers him on, but Victor’s lips only curl into a fond smile. Leonid is so obviously antsy and flustered that his taunts come off as mostly cute to Victor.

The second round starts and Alexei is clearly not satisfied with Victor’s stoicism. He whacks two hard ones on both of his buttocks, but curses as Victor takes them silently. There’s a pause and some ruffling. Victor already knows to anticipate something new, but he’s nevertheless taken off guard when a loud smack lands against his inner thigh. He yelps, and Alexei gives out a little victory yelp of his own. Victor is able to keep his composure during the rest of Alexei’s onslaught, but he has to grit his teeth. His inner thighs are much more tender than his bum. To make matters worse, he cannot stop wondering whether Alexei is crouching down between his legs and whether he is looking up at his freely swinging balls and his hard cock. What must Alexei think of him? Victor already hates this position and his heart thumps in his throat.

The others mercifully slap mostly his bottom, and only a few slaps land on his thighs. But Vladislav, who comes last this time and has the coarsest gloves, starts on his bottom and then inches lower and lower until he too is spanking mostly Victor’s tender thighs. Victor cannot hold back the muffled groans and gasps, and when Vladislav ends his turn by gently rubbing his coarse glove up and down his aching thighs, he moans out loud and shivers.

They have not even reached one hundred and his arse already feels too heated and his skin achy. And he scored almost 300 this time. He _is_ regretting his score a little bit already.

“There we go. Not so stoic, are we now, Nikiforov”, Alexei taunts. His next volley lands on the tender part just below Victor’s bottom where his thighs start. Victor gasps and cannot hinder a few grunts escaping. He supposes the problem of always being the spankee is that the spankers have more opportunities to learn what really makes him react. He grunts through the rest of the whacks his head already feeling much lighter.

The first hundred is reached quickly afterwards, though, and Victor tries to even his breathing and relax his stance. The next phase is usually gentler implements while the harshest are saved to the end. He knows that Yakov and Ivan have inspected and approved the implements in advance, but he’s still afraid of the ingenuity of the younger crowd.

He sighs in relief when a familiar leather flogger lands on his bottom. That’s Gosha’s flogger, it’s familiar to him from so many Winner’s Clubs and also from friendly home rink shenanigans. He likes it’s thuds against his skin. Gosha warms his arse, but also whacks his upper back and thighs giving his already reddened parts a bit of a reprieve. Victor moans in pleasure as Gosha lets his flogger rain slowly down his legs and then up again.

He is surprised when another less pleasurable and more stingy flogger joins the first one. They whack him in turn, one flogger from left and the other from right, and Victor realizes it’s no longer Gosha handling either flogger, but Leonid and Vladislav. The new flogger is much stingier; Victor imagines narrow falls and oil coating. Whatever the flogger is made of, Victor whimpers when it lands on his inner thighs.

He is impressed with the skill of these two, the floggers don’t wrap even once, and the hits land to similar areas on either side. Perhaps Ivan has had them on a tight practice schedule in preparation for this, he thinks to himself and grins. That would be just Ivan’s style. Victor has always trusted the skills of his Moscow tormentors, he realizes.

He lulls into the almost meditative thud and slash of the floggers even as the stingy flogger makes him hiss and grit his teeth. But faster than he’s ready to give up the feeling, Yakov informs them that 160 is full. Victor shudders to think of what is to come next. He is thrumming with energy and his skin feels like it’s glowing. _He_ feels like he’s glowing. He’s ready for the worst, and yet his heart is thrumming in his throat, and his temples are tingling with apprehension.

When Alexei lets a leather belt slash over his buttocks, he keens. The burn is alive in his body, and Alexei is only starting. The next hit lands close to where the first one did, and Victor whimpers. The third hit is even worse, and Victor lifts up to his toes without meaning to, but manages to relax down again quickly. Alexei doesn’t let him go easy, each time the belt lands on his arse, Victor has to gasp or huff. His bottom feels like it’s burning when Alexei finally finishes.

Gosha continues with a wide paddle. Victor has always hated paddles with a vengeance and damn him, but Gosha knows that very well. The thuddy pain rocks Victor forward with each blow and he feels like a rag doll, swaying over the two benches. His arm muscles tense as he struggles to remain in position. The only good thing about the paddle is that Gosha cannot hit his thighs with it. Victor’s cock is rock hard and swings to slap against his belly each time Gosha smacks him. Gosha is not saving his power either. The last whack makes Victor almost stumble.

Leonid and Vladislav take once more a joint turn and Victor thinks he was right in being interested in experiencing them together. This time they are wielding small paddles, something close to ping pong rackets. They are whacking his left and right buttock alternately. One of them hits much harder but they switch in between making him feel more balanced. It feels interesting, but also rather ridiculous.

He’s not laughing any more, though, when Alexei comes back with a paddle as well. It feels like the same one Gosha wielded, but Alexei’s hits are more randomly timed and Victor really struggles keeping in place now. The paddle is so distasteful, and the cumulative burn on his bottom has escalated enough that Alexei’s whacks finally reduce him to honest screams and yelps. Tears are running down his cheeks now. How does that always happen so quickly? He bets Alexei is elated having been the one to make Victor give out his first sob. He’s always been into making Victor loud.

He suspects they are easily over 200 now and if this was three years ago, he would have been almost done, but now he still has ways to go. Alexei whacks him again and his legs wobble a bit. Then the next smack comes so close behind that his left hand slips from the bench and he has to take a step and yet another to keep himself upright.

“My, my, Champion! It looks like you’re having trouble standing up”, Alexei taunts and the young pair sniggers once more. “Yeah”, they giggle.

“I figured you’d feel faint sooner or later so I suggested we plan ahead”, Gosha says, his voice sweet, and it all sounds much too rehearsed not to feel incredibly ominous. But Victor will take another position gladly, his arms are already shaking, and he hates this wide position anyways. Perhaps he can lean over something next? That’s always easier.

But it turns out the next position isn’t easier at all.

“We saw you doing some pretty impressive splits in the warm up, Nikiforov. We thought the golden boy might show us how it’s done in person”, Alexei drawls.

Victor has to open his eyes and take a supporting step as his ears are humming. Splits? They want him to do splits? Here? And how would they even? And – _Oh._

He’s fucked. He’s royally fucked.

He remembers now doing his stretches in the warm up studio the morning before their free program practice. He remembers Alexei standing at the other end of the studio, smirking at him when he sat his legs wide open and leaned forward to stretch into a side split. He had lowered his belly all the way down to the floor, his legs splayed wide. He’s always been conscious of how his butt bubbles out when he’s doing side splits that way, and well, Alexei must have noticed the same thing.

Alexei is hurrying him now to get to the new position, and he starts to stand up, but there’s a hand on his back. He realizes that of course he cannot stand up right away, the horizontal metal bars are in the way. He is forced to slowly shuffle back from his position and isn’t that a humiliating episode already. Gosha makes the most of it by giving out a mock sports commentary about his process. Gosha can really be mean sometimes, but he only does it when there are others around to hear him.

Victor’s not even allowed to stand up properly before he’s already asked to sit down on the bench. The wooden rods chafe at his heated bottom but he doesn’t complain. The winner’s responsibility in Winner’s Club is not to complain but to endure. So he swallows his pride and, as instructed, turns around so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bench but frontside back, his back towards his tormentors and at the edge of the bench. There is enough room for his legs to fit bent from knees on the opposite bench. He feels silly sitting down there while everyone is standing behind him.

“Show us your pretty split then, Golden boy”, Alexei taunts and Victor flushes, understanding what they must want from him. They want him to spread his legs and do a split on the very edge of the bench. It seems ridiculous but doable.

He slowly walks his feet wider and when they are wide enough he slowly straightens his knees. It takes a bit of effort to keep the position wide as he straightens his legs, but he uses his strength and then figures out to jam his heels between the last two bench rods. This way he’s able to to push his feet straight out and keep his position 180 degrees wide. Unfortunately he’s just this flexible; his feet end up at the opposite edges of the bench, toes pointing out. There is just enough space on the bench for his spread legs. He is instructed to grab the metal pole above him and he’s able to just reach it, his arms stretching up. He’s managed to get into the position on his own, but sitting there now he seriously wonders why he would ever have done that.

He feels mortified in shame. He is sitting there in a ludicrous position while everyone else is standing and looking down at him. Yes, he is flexible, but so are each and every one of them, that’s nothing new. He’s the only one doing splits while naked, and now his hard cock is jutting obscenely out in front of him for everyone to see and ogle, and he knows that his bottom is curving out in a bubble, bulging out just over the edge of the bench as he’s sitting on the very edge. He swallows hard and wants to plead for the humiliation to stop, but he stays silent.

As if to emphasize his shame, Alexei grabs the long paddle and taps him gently on his bum a few times. He imagines everyone looking at his probably bright red bottom rounding out behind him. Why do they have to make his bum into such a special number? Then Alexei lifts the paddle and sets the tip of it against the inside of his thigh, close to his groin, and Victor wants to melt away and disappear. The shame burns dark in his throat; it’s the most embarrassed he’s ever been in his life. He’s trapped here between the humiliation of his red spanked bottom and his completely aroused genitals both in full display and he can only sit, keep grabbing the metal above him, bite his lip and swallow his pride. He keeps his eyes fixed to the front. Nothing good could come from seeing the other skaters’ or coaches’ expressions right now.

He imagines they will start spanking his already aching bottom soon and he’s not sure he can stay in one piece for that.

As if taunting his shame, Leonid saunters around the bench to his front and pinches one of his nipples between his wiry fingers, and it’s mortifying, but Victor moans out in pleasure. His cock jumps up and the room laughs. Leonid splays his hand over Victor’s chest then and smooths it over his pecks, and Victor shivers, wanting Leonid to stop and keep going. But then Leonid slaps his chest hard and Victor whines. Both sounds are loud in his ears.

“We don’t want to see your dirty front, Nikiforov”, Leonid scoffs and that sends waves of shame up Victor’s cheeks. Victor had loved the touch, had wanted it keenly, but probably Leonid hadn’t wanted it in the same way at all. “Push him down”, Leonid orders, and Alexei gives a nudge against Victor’s upper back, guiding him forward. Warily, he lets go of the metal bar and leans forward, bracing his hands against the bench again. He doesn’t really want to go deeper, but he’s pushed even further down, just like he’d leaned in the warm up studio. He’s low enough that his balls get trapped between his pelvis and the bench, and his cock touches the wooden rods under him. He does not want to lay all the way down, it feels precarious; the bench is not wide enough to support his whole torso.

“Come on, all the way down”, Leonid admonishes, though, and Victor hates how much bossier and brasher he’s grown already during this evening. The nervous and timid boy is gone. Victor still hesitates, but he has no choice but to obey when the voice of his own coach rises up to explain that he is to lean over and grab onto the bench legs underneath. It’s humiliating to have to have had his own coach speak up. Chastened, he lowers himself down, carefully laying down on the wooden rods and then letting his chest curve down and over the edge of the bench. He can see two of the bench legs close enough and he grabs them greedily for support.

The complete misery of his position opens up to him as he finally settles down and has a moment of introspection. He imagines how he must appear. His bum out there, his legs splayed open, his position precarious, his head lowered below everything else, even below the bench he’s sitting on. He sees all the dust and litter on the floor and he’s so close to it that he thinks he can smell the painted concrete. He feels like a creature of the floor now. Not much better than the dust laying over it. He can clearly see the shoes of his fellow skaters on the other side of the benches, moving freely. The worst of it is that he can do nothing to prevent anything from happening to the rest of his body. His position feels so precarious, he’s sure he’d hurt himself if he moved too quickly away from it.

If their goal was to completely humble him, they have succeeded. He shivers with dread. His leaking cock is painfully pinned between his stomach and the wooden slats of the bench. He is grabbing the cold and rusty metal legs of the bench in a dead grip, and his arse and legs feel completely exposed and helpless. He feels like crying and, indeed, tears are running down – not his cheeks but down his forehead because of his flipped position.

“Oh yes, this position really shows your butt in all it’s red glory”, Alexei says and pats his bottom with his hand gently causing the little bit of softness there is on it to bounce up and down.

“Vitya, your bum really looks huge like this”, Gosha says, with his sharp ability to hit exactly where it hurts the most. Victor knows he’s handsome and pretty and he knows his butt is one of his very best features, but it doesn’t help to ease the way he feels now. He feels like his worst failings are being discussed and he can do nothing but try and swallow his shame.

Leonid joins Alexei and taps his bottom as well, several times, “Look how it bounces. You’ve got some fat here, Nikiforov, did you know?”

Victor knows, of course he knows. Everyone has a little bit of fat in their bottom, it’s attractive even. And that’s why the bottom is so good for spanking as well. He tries to breathe evenly, but he can feel his bottom bouncing too, and now Leonid pats it again. He’s never really had body issues but he cannot help it, a big part of his job is to look pretty, and he’s afraid he looks anything but right now in this ridiculous position, his skin red from the punishment. And his competition and the coaches are taking their time looking at him like this. The feeling of looking ugly is horrible.

“You know, your bum really bounces a lot more than I expected it would”, Gosha says, not helping matters at all.

“And we’ll get to admire it every time we spank you”, Leonid agrees and he must be crouching down as he’s skimming his fingers from one thigh over both of his cheeks all the way to his other thigh and back again. Victor’s legs shiver and it feels odd in this position.

“Oh, how many do we still have left?” Vladislav asks and he sounds much too eager, “You got such a record today, Vitya, too bad…”

And then someone pats him again, sending tiny ripples of the touch along his whole bottom and shock-waves of humiliation up Victor’s spine. His behind feels so huge and exposed like this, and a mean giggle fills the room again.

Victor is about to die of shame and mortification when Ivan finally clears his throat somewhere to his left making the others fall silent.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun, lads, now get on with the spanking or I’ll make your lazy bums bounce instead.”

The rough voice is like music to Victor’s ears. He hates that he has to be thankful for Ivan, but he is. Pain is much easier to handle than mockery.

“I think the belts are in order for this”, Alexei orders, and Victor whimpers just from the thought.

The first hit cuts over his bottom and pulls out a gasp and a curse from him. The pain should be the same as before and it is, but it feels also different. The slashes now come vertically on his arse, not horizontally. The way his skin is pulled in a different way in this position makes the hits feel different and almost odd. It’s almost like completely new parts of him are being touched.

The worst of it is that he can kind of see what’s happening: He can see all the legs of his tormentors, but he cannot see the actual strikes as the bench and his own body are in the way.

From the shoes he knows that the one who’s hitting him right now must be Alexei. He can see Alexei step back and give his weight to the slash as it starts, he can hear the whoosh of the belt in the air, but none of it makes him able to guess where the pain will land nor does it make the pain any less. He has to shriek again and again. He feels undignified, yelping and snorting and grunting down here under the benches and his head upside down. Nobody can even see his head, just his arse. Another slash hits his bum, and he shouts out his pain.

“Haha, Vitya, is that splitting pain you’re feeling?” Gosha asks and the others giggle and snort. It takes Victor a while to sparse the joke and yeah, splitting pain while he’s doing splits, yes, very funny. He groans in response as another slash hits him.

“Oh, oh, I know, or would you rather describe it as _round_ pain? You know as round as your bottom?” Leonid continues the joke, “or what colour would you describe your pain as? Red? I’m guessing red? Or… er… purplish? Wow!”

Everyone is eager to hit him now, and the belt changes hands over and over after just a few hits. They are keeping up the commentary about his reddening skin, but mercifully the pain blocks most of it out. Victor gets the feeling that it’s mostly Gosha and Leonid who are continuing the banter and taking turns coming up with the most mocking quips. At least Gosha is doing it mostly just to make the others laugh, but Victor is less sure about Leonid’s intentions.

“You thought you had such a pretty bottom, Nikiforov? All the girls are crying after it you know. I wish they saw it now, they’d run away for sure”, Leonid croons, and that stings. Victor does not care about girls of course, but at the same time he’d rather like if some boy would see his bottom now and _like_ it, not run away.

But soon Victor gets other worries to think about. Even as his arse is on fire as Vladislav belts him, he can see commotion to the bench with the bags and his heart leaps to his throat as he sees the tip of a long wiry whip curl on the floor.

Victor shrieks when the first kiss of the whip lands on his thrust out bottom. The position makes him feel thrown off his composure and the pain is harsh. The second slash makes him shriek just as much even though he can now expect the pain.

He usually loves the feel of the whips and it’s the same now, but combined with the trepidation and the trembling humiliation of his position, the pain is now sending his heart hammering and his ears humming. He thinks he shrieks for each and every slash, and his palms feel slippery gripping the bench legs.

After a while they switch to another whip or perhaps it’s the belt again. His skin is throbbing so much that it’s become difficult to make clear distinctions. This one doesn’t hurt so much, but landing over sensitive skin, it sill makes him moan out loud. He realizes that he’s again openly sobbing and whimpering and his legs have started to tremble. He hopes he does not have many spanks left, but he honestly has no idea. He’s completely lost the sense of what’s happening and who’s hitting him. He’s just taking one slash after another.

Inevitably the bad whip returns, and Victor has to howl again. The pain feels like it’s slashing his skin open even though it does no such thing. Open cuts are not allowed, and Victor knows Yakov would stop everything if he’d been hurt like that.

Victor thinks his cries have finally started to appease his tormentors, though. Slowly but steadily the taunts and jeers of his peers turn into exclamations of awe and joy. Each excruciating slash over his bottom or thigh is followed by his howl or moan and then several shouts and gasps of something around “Yeah” and “Wow” and “Fuck”.

Once again utter humiliation has turned into pride and elation through his polite yielding and endurance of pain upon pain. He can only imagine how his behind looks like, red slashes left by the whip cris-crossing his rounded bum and his spread thighs.

“Alexei, the last eight”, Yakov announces then, and Victor is both happy and scared. Only eight is good, but still eight more is horrifying.

It’s the worst of the whips of course. Alexei has always been good with whips. Victor howls and moans through the first ones. His whole body is shaking and it’s hard to keep his grip on the bench legs, his hands are so sweaty. Alexei clearly waits for him to settle, but he cannot help that he’s still sniffling and keening low in his throat. His whole bottom feels like it’s still under constant whipping and spanking. It’s pulsing and aching, the pain still there, large and demanding.

His voice is vibrating as he howls for the fourth slash. The fifth and sixth come close together and his sobbing doesn’t subside after them. His legs are now shaking more, and he hopes the last two – or are there more? – come soon before… he does not know what?

He feels like he has to wait for an age, and the anticipation is the worst of all. He keeps flinching on his own, imagining a coming slash and he recognizes that that’s a bit off, even for him.

He’s so thankful when the last two come close together that he could cry. In fact he does cry. He takes large gulps of air and his belly heaves. He feels like he’s flying, not sure where all his limbs are, like he’s just woken up and does not know where he is. It’s not scary at all, it just feels interesting, a new kind of experience, and realizing that, he knows he perhaps should be a bit worried after all.

He’s not sure how much time passes.

Then he feels a hand on his upper back.

“Can you sit up?” a voice asks.

He’s not sure. He tries to find a better grip on the bench legs but it does not happen. “Slowly. Take your time”, the voice advises, and Victor huffs. It’s not like he can do anything fast at the moment. He feels dizzy just laying there.

He tries to lift his chest up from the bench but that doesn’t happen either, it feels like he has no command over those muscles that were meant to lift him up. It’s not what happened to him when Igor was hitting him with those canes that one time, he has intention enough, his muscles have just gone numb for a while. It’s not scary per se, this sort of thing can happen to him after an intense massage as well. He knows from experience that with tiny movements he can return his coordination and control.

The hand is still resting on his back, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. He’s thankful that at least no-one has pulled him up from his shoulders yet, that he’s allowed to get up on his own time and with his own effort. Finally he figures out how to bring his hands to the edge of the bench. He breathes. He carefully activates his core muscles and prepares for lifting himself up and then aborts the movement and curses loudly.

His whole chest has managed to glue itself onto the wooden bench and it pinches him allover. Also: His cock is hurting like hell and then some. Fuck. It has been pinned under him all this time and it’s still rock hard. How did he not notice this earlier? The wooden slats of the bench cut several achy stripes on his chest and his poor genitals. Fuck fuck fuck.

He lifts himself carefully again, and this time his chest releases it’s hold on the bench with a smack. He feels icky and sticky with it, but he’s free. Not so his cock: it’s still stuck to the lacquered surface of the bench. His heart pounds wildly, but with a bit of a tilt from his hips his cock finally peels off with just a little bit of burn.

Then there is a loud whooshing sound, and everything goes a little foggy for a moment. There are hands on his shoulders now and support on his forehead, and he’s thankful for the hands now.

“I’m okay”, he says as his head clears a bit, “just…”

“It’s okay, take it easy. You were amazing”, someone says, and it feels odd but good to hear. Where are his mean colleagues, then?

His inner thighs plop off from the bench the same way his chest had done as he straightens upright and his legs rotate with him.

“Oh fuck, he’s all stripey”, someone says, “we should’ve put a towel on the bench or something.”

“Yeah, and have him slide all around on it, no way”, another says.

“’m okay”, Victor says. As an answer someone chuckles and says, “yeah, right.”

Victor gasps and moans as he finally bends his knees a little and brings his legs closer together. The lengthened stretch burns in his muscles, and his joints feel like they are not supposed to be moving. He wonders whether he’s not too old for this shit already. But slowly and steadily he’s able to bring his legs closer together until he’s sitting almost normally on the bench, just the wrong way around.

A hand brings him a plastic cup of water, and he drinks it greedily, not minding that a bit of it sloshes down his chest. Then he is given a wad of paper towels and he dips his face into one and blows his nose into another. He’s still damp all over, but he’s really not up for any more fuss.

He hisses out loud when he lifts himself up and scoots a little forward on the bench. His arse is on fire. A hand comes down to shield his head as he moves again – to avoid him bumping against the rod. That damned rod again, he hadn’t remembered it this time either.

“Thanks”, he mumbles, and his voice is really groggy.

“No, thank you”, someone says, and someone else chuckles, but these sound like friendly someones, and Victor doesn’t mind what they say even though he can’t quite comprehend it.

“That was fucking crazy, Vitya”, someone says, and Victor smiles. Because that’s Alexei. “You’re crazy brave, man”, Alexei continues and slaps him on the shoulder hard enough to make him feel a bit dizzy again.

“I think you’ve used all your slaps, Alexei Dmitrievich”, someone says in a sardonic drawl, and that’s Yakov. Victor would recognize that voice anywhere. Victor looks up and finds his coach still standing back, leaning against the wall. Yakov smiles at him and shakes his head. But it’s the fond shake. The one saying, _what am I going to do with you, Vitya._

They bring him his team Russia sweats. They are simple and loose, and he’s thankful that they let him pull them on in peace. There’s murmured conversation going on in the small room, but none of it seems to be about him. Slowly he starts breathing easier, and his limbs start cooperating faster. He’s offered more water and he gulps it down greedily before he even thinks about standing up.

He feels drowsy as they finally meander back to their real dressing rooms. The event is over for a while ago already, and the corridors are almost empty of fans and skaters and supporting staff. Victor knows that the coaches would have secured the premises for them for the duration of the winner’s club, but that they probably have to leave relatively quickly now. The rink is huge and the extra time must cost a lot of money. The guards are already closing everything up for the night, and their hollers and the bangs of heavy doors echo in the empty darkened corridors.

Two taxis are idling at the side doors as they emerge, and to Victor’s surprise Alexei insist that Victor ride in their car rather than with Gosha and Yakov. Victor doesn’t mind, in fact he thinks that the possessive caring lark suddenly taken over the Moscow team is rather cute.

He is coddled and bundled into the back seat with Leonid sitting in the middle seat beside him and Vladislav on the other side. Alexei is sitting in the front and holding the court. The ride is not long. They all stay at the same hotel close to the rink. The evening is dark, but the city is still alive with people and laughter and lights. Inside their taxi, the atmosphere is cozy and cushioned. Alexei is babbling away, keeping the driver entertained, but at the backseat they sit in comfortable silence.

Leonid leans closer to Victor in a curve and casually places a hand on Victor’s knee. Victor has a feeling that the intention of the touch is nothing but casual, though. He gives out a small hum and is rewarded by Leonid’s palm inching a little bit up on his leg. Victor feels a warm smile sliding onto his face. Leonid’s harsh words and rough treatment of him during the club get another colouring now as they trundle along the busy streets, and Victor’s thigh slowly warms under Leonid’s palm.

Again, Victor does not mind.

The Moscow clan flanks him during the few steps to the hotel doors, and it’s more like the procession of the country’s gold medalist now. Someone is carrying his bags, and Alexei is telling everyone regardless if they want to hear it or not how Russia got the gold _again_ and how his dear friend here is such an _amazing_ skater. Victor thinks it’s a bit much, but he’s happy to play along. This is a familiar game. Smile and wink and toss your hair. Repeat until you can escape. Piece of cake.

They jostle and bump his bags to his room, and then Yakov is there with his costume bag. Victor had no idea he had even been missing that. There’s a bit of a bustle and saying of good nights and then the door is finally closed, and Victor leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

Only to open them again to a knock on the same door.

It’s Leonid. He looks a bit sheepish and glances around himself. Victor lets him in. It’s not like he doesn’t recognize that stance and expression. Leonid is here for one reason and one reason only and Victor has no wish to be unnecessarily cruel.

Leonid holds up a tube of skin creme.

“Ah, I thought you might… Well…”

“Yes, Lyonya, that’s very thoughtful. Thank you very much”, Victor says, because he knows with one hundred percent certainty now what the unnecessarily harsh words in the club had meant and what the hand sneaking up his thigh had signaled, and he wants to move things along now.

For all his nasty words and strong commands during the club, Leonid still looks hesitant and timid here in Victor’s hotel room. Victor feels curiously like he’s taken Nikolai’s old place as he looks down at Leonid fidgeting and biting his lip. Leonid looks just like Victor had felt that first time when he’d knocked on Nikolai’s door. Now he’s the one who has to show to his younger colleague how things work.

“Would you not help me put it on, Lyonya? It’s so hard on my own…” he starts.

In fact Victor does not care one whiff about the cream. He cares about his cock that’s still a little hard from the club, and is in a good way of perking all the way up again. But he’s more than happy to play this game Leonid has invented for them if it makes things easier for Leonid.

“Okay”, Leonid breathes, quick to agree. He’s about to walk further into the room, but Victor stops him with a hand on his shoulder and tilts his head towards the bathroom.

“Let’s go in here, no?” he suggests.

The bathroom is bright and a bit opulent, Victor has payed for the suite after all. There are large mirrors on three walls, and the tasteful tiling has hues of white and gray. Victor had already planned to spend some time here this evening, peeling down his clothes and admiring his behind. Why not do it with the company of Leonid? Yes, this is much better than the bedroom. He wants to see his marks just as much as he presumes Leonid does. There’s enough room for them to do a lot of things in here, leaning against the wall or bending over the counter, and almost every position offers them a way to admire the view from several angles.

Victor peels off his clothes with just a few moves. The sweatpants and jumper he’s wearing aren’t sexy enough to make lengthened striptease enticing. With his heated behind exposed he leans his chest against the cool wall tiles, spreads his legs and arches his back. If he looks sideways he can see his reflection from side and back. The sight shocks him even though he’s seen his spanked skin more than once. He’s pink and red all the way from his back to his legs and his thighs are red all around. His bum is even darker. The whips and the belts have left marks on his bottom and his thighs all over and the different positions he’s been spanked in make them look like he’s been molested without restraint or reason. The angry marks of the whips cross this way and that, and his bottom looks like a scratched nonsense drawing made with red and purple crayons.

He looks so divine that he wishes he could have professional photographs taken of him like this.

Through the mirror he can also see Leonid in the doorway. Leonid’s eyes are glued to his bottom and his gaze makes Victor’s belly churn.

Leonid is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth twice without getting a word out. He snaps to attention only as he notices Victor regarding him through the mirror. Nervously, he fumbles his sleeves up and walks to the sink. He washes his hands – with soap even – but he’s so nervous that he splashes water all around. He’s obviously been reading some mysterious guidebook for how to take care of your spankee, and obviously the bullet points start with washing your hands. Victor chuckles. It’s not like he needs all the bells and whistles. He’s pretty easy. Make him hurt and make him come. That’s about the extent of his needs right now. But he’s happy to take this too; Leonid’s eager fumbling makes him smile, but it also makes him feel appreciated.

Leonid has toweled his hands now and opened the tube of healing cream, and before Victor has time to think, there are cream covered palms over the reddest part of his bum. He keens and arches. The touch burns, and the cream feels cold, and Leonid’s brushes are fast and impatient. He lathers Victor’s bum and it feels both wonderful and way too clinical.

With a few well timed and sensual sways of his hips, Victor gradually gets Leonid to slow down. Slowly he gets into the rhythm Victor likes, spreading the ointment all over Victor’s back and bottom and then down his legs and then up again and over his buttocks once more, carefully, sensually, and Victor pushes and arches along with the sliding touches. He’s rock hard as Leonid’s trembling fingers sneak between his legs to spread the cream over his tender inner thighs.

“God, Victor, you’re hard again”, Leonid gasps. He pauses for a while and bites his lip, but continues again. “I know the other’s wouldn’t… but fuck, Victor, I wanted to wank that pretty cock of yours in the room – so badly.”

Victor breathes audibly. “Why didn’t you? I wouldn’t have minded”, Victor lies, because he thinks he would have minded, actually.

“The others are not like that”, Leonid mumbles.

“You mean gay, Lyonya?” Victor asks, smiling around his words, “You can say it. Gay!” he luxuriates around the word, “I’m gay. I won’t tell. And I think you could call me Vitya, now, couldn’t you?”

“Fuck, Vitya”, Leonid huffs out and then straightens his back a little, looking Victor straight in the eyes through the mirror. There is a new gleam in his eyes, sharper and more calculating.

“A bit eager are you?” he asks and, god, where was this mean son of a bitch hiding the past ten minutes? Victor is glad to have him back. His cock twitches.

Leonid puts the tube away and leans closer, letting his sweatpants brush against Victor’s thighs. Victor shivers, not knowing what Leonid is planning, and cherishing the open dread in the air.

When Leonid takes a step back again and simply resumes smoothing his hands against Victor’s skin, Victor feels betrayed. Until he feels the telltale prickle of nails curving against his cheek. Oh god! Oh fuck! Leonid scratches down his cheek and down his leg, over his heated reddened skin, and Victor mewls. It’s a new kind of pain and completely unbearable. He arches his hips for more, and Leonid slaps his butt playfully.

“You want something, I recon you’ve gotta ask nicely first.”

“Fuck, Lyonya. Do it. Hurt me, scratch me, whatever. Just do it.”

“All right”, Leonid drawls and scratches his other cheek. It burns and Victor shivers. The next scratch runs to the inside of his left thigh, and the howl he emits vibrates in the small space. Victor wants to close his legs and also to open them wider for Leonid. Fuck, how did he get rock hard and leaking so fast? His fingers are trembling from want against the tiles.

“You want your pretty cock wanked, Vitya?”

“Oh god, yes, please”, Victor whines. He’s died and has landed in heaven.

“Ok. Stay there then, don’t move.”

Victor doesn’t move from his position, but he’s anxious and looks to the mirror to see Leonid exit the bathroom. He must be fetching something from the jacket he left hanging in the hall. Victor moans as he appears again at the door frame, leaning casually and gazing Victor’s behind in the mirror. Victor’s heart thumps.

Leonid’s slowly pulling on his sturdy black gloves.

Victor’s mouth waters. Leonid’s gloves are not as coarse as Vladislav’s had been, but they are not smooth either. More than that, Leonid’s expression is to die for. He looks hungry and mean and brutal. He’s shorter than Victor and younger than Victor and more inexperienced than Victor, but he’s so full of that mean nasty energy that Victor wants to drop to his knees for this man.

“Hmm, what was it you wanted, Vitya? Something to occupy your greedy little cock was it?” Leonid asks and brushes his gloves over Victor’s backside. The leather is neither good nor terrible against his skin, just feels new.

“If you want me to wank you, Vitya, you’ve gotta stay in position and keep your hands up there where they are.”

“God, fuck, yes”, Victor breathes, he has no notion of disobeying Leonid as long as he’s being this lovingly cruel for him.

“Yes, what, Vitya?”

“Yes, wank me, please, Lyonya”, he breathes. His voice is breaking. He hopes this is enough for Leonid because he’s not sure he’s coherent enough for any more elaborate pleading.

“Ok, then”, Leonid says and circles one gloved hand around Victor. The leather against his sensitive shaft feels foreign and completely wonderful at first, but just after two pulls Victor knows that this is going to be difficult. There is enough slide to make the wanking pleasurable, but enough friction too to make it hurt just as much. He already wants to bring his hands down to slap Leonid’s hand away, but he smashes them tighter against the cold tiling and tells himself he has to keep it together. There’s no way Leonid will keep doing what he does if he disobeys.

“God, you’re gorgeous”, Leonid huffs against his nape. He must have dropped his other glove because soon after nails drill into Victor’s bum again and scratch down his left cheek. His other hand speeds up squeezing around his tortured cock.

Victor leans harder against the wall and rests his cheek on the cold ceramic. He can see everything that’s happening in the mirrors; his glazed expression, his red striped arse and thighs, his cock hidden inside the painful squeeze of that huge black glove, Leonid leaning over him all casual and cruel in his sweatpants and T-shirt, his eyes cold and hungry, devouring the very same image in the mirror.

“Fuck, Vitya”, Leonid breathes and then the words come tumbling out of him like a confession. “Fuck, you know I was thinking of wanking you with this glove the moment you took your dancer’s belt off tonight. Fuck it was hard not to touch you more than I did. And then it was all done and you were sweaty and delirious and your backside was red and raw and you still just sat there all pliable. Fuck, I wanted to make you sit on that fucking bench you had been spanked on and grab that fucking metal rod above your head and then while everyone watched, I would have wanked you with the glove on until you would be crying and pleading me to stop and then I would have squeezed even harder, all the way until you would have been dry of both spunk and tears.”

Victor’s heart is in his throat as he lets that image consume him. His whole body tingles with even the idea of the embarrassment he would have felt if that had happened, if all the skaters and coaches had been watching on. He could not have said no, he’s pretty sure, he’d been so aroused then. Even if he would have been mortified.

He’s beyond aroused now. He’s not crying yet, but he could soon be if Leonid keeps up with the – god – the scratching and the dizzying torture of his wanking. He wants to push to Leonid’s glove and into his nails and he’s quivering in between them.

“Next time”, Leonid huffs at their reflections, “perhaps I’ll borrow Vlad’s gloves”, and he twists his fist making Victor’s insides twist just as brutally. Leonid then grabs his buttock and squeezes his nails into the tenderest parts grabbing a tight fistful of his red buttock, and Victor whines. His orgasms twist out of him with force and he cries out. He spasms out load after load and as he’s closed his eyes the fantasized image of him trembling in the dressing room fills his mind. He can almost feel the cold of the metal rods in his palms and hear the shake of the coaches heads as he comes, Leonid’s harsh leather around his cock and his harsh words whispering into his ear.

Leonid keeps him squeezed all the way through and only releases him when it’s starting to feel agonizing.

He then tosses the glove to the floor, spits into his palm and pulls his own long and narrow cock out. He jacks off, looking down at Victor’s red arse, huffing out ragged breaths. It doesn’t take long before he ejaculates all over Victor’s lower back and buttocks.

He has tucked himself back into his boxers and sweatpants before Victor has really even come down from his own high.

Taking a step back from Victor, Leonid seems to have once more lost his nerve. “Ah, you, eh, ok? The cream is… enough.”

Victor cannot swallow the little giggle that escapes as he gathers himself and turns around to face Leonid.

“Yes, Lyonya. It’s enough. Everything’s enough. This was great.”

He cocks his head and smiles because this Leonid is having trouble looking him in the eye again. He’s clearly not completely ready for these kind of games, but he has potential.

Victor takes a step forward and grasps his chin gently, forcing him to look up.

“You did good, Lyonya. You should be proud.”

“Ok”, Leonid says and nods.

Victor grabs his bath robe from the hook, wraps it around himself and walks Leonid to the door.

Already out in the corridor, Leonid turns once more back to Victor.

They say, “Thank you”, at the same time, and Victor smiles before he closes the door between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! 
> 
> I need to take a little bit longer break at this point. I know what's going to happen next, but I need to take a bit of time to let the ideas for the next chapters settle and take their correct form. Not to worry, though, even if it might take some time, I'm gonna come back to the story and I already have a lot of it written. And I know how it's gonna end. ;) Just asking for a bit of your patience! All my love! - Willow


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